| So we start with my father as a boy, barely spoke a word of English
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| Fell in love from a distance. |
| He watched her working from the back fence
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| He learned some words and some clever turns of phrase from his father’s book of
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| poets
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| She wasn’t taken in that instant, but grew impressed with his persistence
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| They met each other out by moonlight, made love in the nearby woods
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| Then her folks became suspicious when her cycle broke and settled it
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| They stole away without their goodbyes, got married in a foreign town,
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| made their way as best as they could
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| Found jobs and settled down
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| And then time moved on
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| I was born in a river of blood on sheets from the wedding day
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| The room was dark and the stench was thick
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| My father couldn’t stand the smell of it
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| Mama died in the night cause the nearest doctor couldn’t stem the blood loss
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| Father cried out on the back porch
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| My sister held me at the neighbor’s house
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| Oh my, there was a storm then. |
| There was a flood of a different kind
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| Father’s eyes were often vacant, but his hands were rarely quiet
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| Sister learned to take her hits well, both from life and the physical kind
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| But I was never one to lie down, despite who picked the fight
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| So we designed our Hells
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| Father turned into a drinker, a dark bastard with a wooden heart
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| Sister learned to be a mother, before she ever played another part
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| And I became a little terror, I lashed out at whatever’s around
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| Took some time before I settled, and found a mind that was somewhat sound
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| And like it always does, time marched on
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| Six years later father died in the very same bedroom
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| Many said it was the grief that did it
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| I have to say it’s cause he hung himself
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| To be honest, neither sister nor myself ever much regret his passing
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| But I admit it was a nice thing, to always know that we could feed ourselves |