I grew up not to far from here in a small American town. I knew not my
father, for he was always away. Always out hunting, working and drinking. I
often saw my mother crying late at night. I wondered if it had to do with my
father's absence. All I could do back then was wonder.

        As I grew older, a small flame of hatred burnt deep down in my belly. As
a teenager I thought I hated the man I never knew, I rebelled against "the
cause" and tried many things to get attention. I often saw my mother cry after
work, late at night. I wondered if she felt I was gone. All I could do back then
was wonder.

        As I grew older the flame inside me became part of me, and I never
learned. I met up with the man that I should have called dad. Our eyes met as we
shared a drink, he apologized for not being there. I never saw a man like this
cry late at night, with his head in his hands.

        As I grew older, my mother died, she cried herself to sleep. The funeral
was grand, she would have been proud to see it; candles and choir. After which I
took a sip and met my fine wife. A rather lovely girl with long red hair and a
baby's face; lips of gold. I gave her the world, a house, a car, and child, what
a wonderful delight. It was then when I was faced with the bills of what I
bought, I worked as hard as I could just to pay them back, forgetting about my
family, and my wife.

        As I grew older I saw my wife crying late at night. I felt bad. She
would not listen. And no one seemed to understand. I walked that night to a bar
and drank myself to sleep.

        As I grew old: my son off to college, my wife now dead, (her funeral
just as grand as my mothers). I met my son in a bar one day in the winter
months, shared with him a drink I did. To him, I did not apologize, but gave him
advice. "Don't live like I have, my son. Live a life. Walk the world, see the
sights, and when you're set, a well paying job, and a hansom face on you, a wife
will soon follow." My son stared at me and tipped his hat as he went on his way.
I finished both drinks and I went back home. Sat on my worn sheets. And for the
first time in my damage life, I cried myself to sleep.
        

I grew up not to far from here in a small American town. I knew not my
father, for he was always away. Always out hunting, working and drinking. I
often saw my mother crying late at night. I wondered if it had to do with my
father's absence. All I could do back then was wonder.

        As I grew older, a small flame of hatred burnt deep down in my belly. As
a teenager I thought I hated the man I never knew, I rebelled against "the
cause" and tried many things to get attention. I often saw my mother cry after
work, late at night. I wondered if she felt I was gone. All I could do back then
was wonder.

        As I grew older the flame inside me became part of me, and I never
learned. I met up with the man that I should have called dad. Our eyes met as we
shared a drink, he apologized for not being there. I never saw a man like this
cry late at night, with his head in his hands.

        As I grew older, my mother died, she cried herself to sleep. The funeral
was grand, she would have been proud to see it; candles and choir. After which I
took a sip and met my fine wife. A rather lovely girl with long red hair and a
baby's face; lips of gold. I gave her the world, a house, a car, and child, what
a wonderful delight. It was then when I was faced with the bills of what I
bought, I worked as hard as I could just to pay them back, forgetting about my
family, and my wife.

        As I grew older I saw my wife crying late at night. I felt bad. She
would not listen. And no one seemed to understand. I walked that night to a bar
and drank myself to sleep.

        As I grew old: my son off to college, my wife now dead, (her funeral
just as grand as my mothers). I met my son in a bar one day in the winter
months, shared with him a drink I did. To him, I did not apologize, but gave him
advice. "Don't live like I have, my son. Live a life. Walk the world, see the
sights, and when you're set, a well paying job, and a hansom face on you, a wife
will soon follow." My son stared at me and tipped his hat as he went on his way.
I finished both drinks and I went back home. Sat on my worn sheets. And for the
first time in my damage life, I cried myself to sleep.