(no subject)
for those of you who have never had a real father. (I'm not pointing out anyone, I just love this song)
Death Cab For Cutie - Styrofoam Plates
there's a saltwater film on the jar of your ashes:
i threw them to sea but a gust blew them backwards
and the sting in my eyes
that you then inflicted
was par for the course just as when you were living.
it's no stretch to say you were not quite a father
but a donor of seeds to a poor single mother
that would raise us alone
we never saw the money
that went down your throat
through the hole in your belly.
thirteen years old in the suburbs of denver
standing in line for Thanksgiving dinner at the catholic chuch
the servers wore crosses
to shield from the sufferance plauging the others
styrofoam plates, cafateria tables
charity reeks of cheap wine and pity
and i'm thinking of you
i do every year
when we count all our blessings
and wonder what we're doing here.
you're a disgrace to the concept of family
the priest won't divulge that fact in his homily
and i'll stand up and scream
if the mourning remain quiet,
you can deck out a lie in a suit but i won't buy it.
I won't join in the procession that's speaking their piece
using five dollar words
while praising his integrity
and just cause he's gone
it doesn't change the fact:
he was a bastard in life thus a bastard in death.
Death Cab For Cutie - Styrofoam Plates
there's a saltwater film on the jar of your ashes:
i threw them to sea but a gust blew them backwards
and the sting in my eyes
that you then inflicted
was par for the course just as when you were living.
it's no stretch to say you were not quite a father
but a donor of seeds to a poor single mother
that would raise us alone
we never saw the money
that went down your throat
through the hole in your belly.
thirteen years old in the suburbs of denver
standing in line for Thanksgiving dinner at the catholic chuch
the servers wore crosses
to shield from the sufferance plauging the others
styrofoam plates, cafateria tables
charity reeks of cheap wine and pity
and i'm thinking of you
i do every year
when we count all our blessings
and wonder what we're doing here.
you're a disgrace to the concept of family
the priest won't divulge that fact in his homily
and i'll stand up and scream
if the mourning remain quiet,
you can deck out a lie in a suit but i won't buy it.
I won't join in the procession that's speaking their piece
using five dollar words
while praising his integrity
and just cause he's gone
it doesn't change the fact:
he was a bastard in life thus a bastard in death.