Gritty Son

All my life,
I’ve pushed a knife,
Through someone's heart,
And into another's arms.

A sweet poison,
That sinks the buoyant,
Everyone has felt my wrath,
Yet,
I’ve never tasted it.

Everything I've touched,
Has never left untouched.
Every trust I've had,
Was better never had.

I’ve always hated mirrors,
They show the ugly clearer,
And show the ghastly smears,
Of someone else's tears,
Me being what they fear.

That's why I'd shatter the glass,
I never wished to see,
That I'm empty.
Because I already knew,
That there was a hole in me.

That's why I've never had the guts to look.

I've always been the sun,
The one,
Everyone revolves around.

You were always a shitty son,
That's what mom used to tell me.

Now she's down in a coffin,
Down by mister McLaughlin,
I still hear him scoffing at me,
His voice dying slowly,
His coughing slowly killing him.

All the times I tried to help,
All the times I tried to make well…
I'd always just hurt,
And make the wound worse.

That's what got me in this cell.
Rotting away for years and years,
Rolling in dreary tears.
It's all my fault…
Should've never been born…
Where’s an abortion when you need one?

Take a portion of the things I've done,
And flush them down the toilet.

Take all those who toil,
At meaningless struggle,
And free them forever.

That's how I feel right now.
I've been handed the keys,
Finally set free of me,
And now I'm back on the streets,
Where I'm meant to be.

Now on this winter night,
Among a flurry of snowflakes
I aim to set things right,
And bury my mistakes,
Once and for all.

The bouquet of roses,
Feels like a mess a ropes,
Snaking through the river of moses,
And running beneath angels’ noses.

I walk this icy road,
While I think of places I'll come to roam.
From Paris to Rome,
I could never come home.
But no,
Why would I go?

This is the first time I've seen snow,
Since before a long time ago.

Some things have to be done alone,
And what I'm doing tonight,
Is one of those things.

The rusty gate creaks open,
While the breeze sneaks in,
And wears my cheeks thin.

I make my way to the stone,
Along a path of moonlight,
And past the trees who groan.

Here she lies,
Right next to Mister McLaughlin.
I put the bouquet on the grave,
And begin my confession.

I pretend she's my priest,
As I spill my bucket of sin.
The list is sadly extensive,
That is to say the least.

But I know she'll love me anyway,
It’s all she has to give,
And all I have to receive.

All I crave is a little redemption,
For all the favors I failed to mention,
And all the times I didn't give my attention.

I finish my business,
And stand,
With peace of mind in sight.

You were always a gritty one,

That's what my momma tells me,
Above the sound of laughing,
Cough-free Mclaughlin,
Drinking his coffee,
Within his coffin.