Father, come home!

Father, father, please come home!
You have been drinking since half-past one.

The clock on my wrist reads six.
Mother is feeding little Nix, 
with nobody to help her but me,
yet I am here, father, stuck in between.

Little Nix is sick and feverish,
Her face squeamish, she coughs and kicks.

When I left her she was worse, 
her breathing slowly growing more hoarse.
When I asked mother if you'd come home,
Her answer was a sad "of course"!

Father, father, come home, father......
The clock on my wrist reads seven.
Nix's body is cold, yet she isn't yet old,
and our house is covered in mold.
She is in heaven, where she sleeps,
down here, I listen to mother weep.

Don't send me back now, good father.
Come home and give a hug to mother...
With Nix gone,
How sad she'll be, how she'll grieve.

That is all I ask.
Surely this is a simple task?

Father, come home!
Father!