Father

Father your failures are so grave

They have seeped to son

No amount of wishing

For grace to be regained or won

10 000 pounds of hope

On the shoulders of one

It's clear to me

How the son has gone to seed

It's clear to me

How the roots shape the tree

If I found a penance to be paid

If I found a payment to be made

There's no real letter to write

To no real father of mine

With no real things

It's hard not to think

With no real things

It's hard not to sing

Father your failures are so grave

They have seeped to son

No amount of wishing

For grace to be regained or won