The Old-time's 2x4

Walking dead on two burned feet

Do you have anything left to say to me?

From barber chairs and baseball gloves

To calling names and slaps and drugs

From “son, you could have been someone”

To “hey there, meet my only son”

Lost in the mail for a convenient month

A graduation unattended

Five hundred miles, five hundred days

We'll never talk, let's count the ways we fake it

Over every break and you kick yourself for making this mistake…

Actions dismantle litigation

And I thought this would be easier for me

Another forced smile on vacation

Another disappointment paves itself into a two way street

And I see you inside myself

I want to climb out of my skin

I see you in myself every day

And once again, I was the worst mistake

Your connection to a thirty year hate

I tried hard not to believe it

I'll try harder to feel it

Here's to you, ya old bastard