| Mother, Father, I’m doing OK
|
| On the other side of the country, far away
|
| And though I know the things that you want to hear me say
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| Sometimes these things are hard
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| Mother, Father, I am your son
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| Right down to the long thin pointed face
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| And this muddled up and twisted tongue
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| And now I find that I’m doing
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| All those things you would have done
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| Sometimes these things are hard
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| Ch: So do I thank you? |
| Do I curse you?
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| These tracks stretch out before me — the ones you left behind
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| What I want and what I feel — it’s yours, yours, not mine
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| Mother, Father, all those battles that have been
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| And the long, long silences that lay in between
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| Please don’t try to tell me all those were in vain
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| Sometimes these things are hard
|
| We line up at the wedding in rows of deep set eyes
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| In our finest formal dresses and proper suits and ties
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| Like a family of Munsters in a really bad disguise
|
| Ch: So do I thank you? |
| Do I curse you?
|
| These tracks stretch out before me — the ones you left behind
|
| What I want and what I feel — it’s yours, yours, not mine |