A broken little heart entangles his tears,
that come from a person that he'll never see.
Wet rain boots and ***** feet make him forget
about the darkest nights. His bed and blankets
are like souvenirs from home; a house he'll never
remember. Lies and "I'm sorry"s are trapped in his
hair, dangling behind his ears, whispering such
morbid pain among his lullabies. With every cry he's
screamed for you, can you even hear him? He's afraid
to sleep alone, as the TV erases nightmares oozing from
his eyes, do you care at all? Lost toys and old photographs
make him plead; Oh, but why? He'll never understand the
love he couldn't have, the love you wouldn't give-

He may have fathered
me but he was never a father.
He saw crumbs with his wife
and children.

He may have fathered
me but he was never a father.
For the home was not full of love,
he choose to raise and nurture
fear.

He may have fathered
me but he was never a father.
He saw wealth in chasing the
thrill of the illicit than soothing
the pain he caused with us in the
picture.

He may have fathered
me but he was never a father.
Who now recalls that he's getting
old. You think you're a man.
You were never a man.
You were and always
will be an immature
boy.

He may have fathered
me but he was never a father.
If anyone was my Father,
it was definitely my mother.
She did all she can to shield me.
She practically raised me.
With her, I didn't have any
memory re-written.

He may have fathered
me but he was never a father.
My mother played at both roles
But of course, she's strong because
she had her father and the
Holy Father.
They all are still here.
They will guide me.
He added another year
so I know He loves me.
I'll make my mistakes.
I may walk the wrong path
But with them at my side,
I'll always find my way back.


Truth of the matter is
Any man can be a father, but it takes a
REAL man
to step up and be
a Dad.

You broke me.
Why can't you fix me?
Did the pieces cut your feet?
Did the porcelain make you bleed?
I know. It hurts, right?
The sting left inside at night?
And bandaids don't heal it,
they just made you cry,
Because you can't really fix it,
and you can't really fight.
And I understand the absence,
the advancements in my head,
A unique side to seeing,
a life trembling in death.
As I am standing,
to prove I'm awake,
How much more pain,
am I able to take?
None.
That's what you can't see;
the more I am feeling,
The less I am free-