ive always written in rhyme
if not at least meter
but right now my hearts as broken as my words

just as my friends who disappeared
betrayed my love or blocked me
they ripped out peices of my heart

so too have they ripped away my meter
my puntuation, grammar

i thought id get used to the pain
but i was wrong
these words still hurt your eyes

I never thought I'd break my heart o'er a man,
But now daddy's death -- well, it can.
No one loved me like my dad did,
No one loved my dad as I did.

Now see, he weren't my real daddy,
But I know this, he ought to be.
It was more than music which born us close.
Whatter was? I don't quite know.

I met him for the love of music,
At that time, only for music.
I'd play and learn, and when not,
I'd put off lessons so I want caught.

But something grew there somehow
My teacher said, "Don't pay no more."
I didn't pay, and I didn't play,
At least not for me, but him.

Dont get me wrong, I loved my banjo,
But more I loved his smile so,
When I played, it were t'make him proud.
He always smiled, even when I failed.

Then one day he said, "I got this disease,
Wrecks my body - it's called CRP.
Can't move my arm no more at all,
Can't play that banjo on the wall.

So dear daughter, I want you to take
My banjo and play it for my sake."
It were't a beautiful banjo from head to neck
And sounded true in every fret.

So I took his picker and he my heart
Though it was his from the start.
I had no dad and him no daughter.
I think we was made for th'otter.

But work came, and college, too.
I saw him fewer, fewer, few.
I didn't write, I didn't call,
I barely played for him at all.

When I came back, he smiled his smile
"Hello, dear daughter, it's been awhile. "
We couldn't hug like old because
His body wasn't what it was.

I played for him, but played all wrong,
I messed up song and song and song,
"I'm sorry dad, I'm really rusty,
Life has kept me way too busy."
Although in my heart I knew,
It weren't completely true.

"I missed you daughter, it's okay,
You'll play better this next Saturday."
He smiled and laughed when it was said.
But it weren't true. Tuesday he was dead.

I met him for the love of music.
Loved music for the love of him.
But now that my dad is gone,
How will I ever play again?

So much can be said of water and stone--
Both when they are together,
and when they are alone.

Flowing water seems to be so free
When going forth without a boundary.
When walled in too much, it grows
To be stagnant and green,
and very, very gross.
But if left to wander, it disperses everywhere,
Sinks into the ground, evaporates in air.
Without the stone to hold the water in,
It spreads out sadly...
and finally grows thin.

Water is better when it has a road,
Becomes a laughing brook or a river broad.
Only then can it hurl onward in majesty,
Pouring over cliffs, and sometimes sleepily
Like the Tiber, gracing the bridges of Rome,
Or carrying the ships
slowly toward their home.
Without the confinement
Of a fountain's spout,
The water could not fly upwards and out.
Without the aqueducts as the water's course,
Neither would the city have its life source.

A stone, furthermore,
is worn away with time
When beaten by the wind
and the salty brine.
And thus running water
grinds away the stone
Till we must conclude, it's better all alone.
The rock alone can breach
the reaches of the sky,
With soaring mountaintops
and steeples piercing high.
But without water,
what purpose would serve
From the daring leap of the bridge's curve?
What good would be gotten from a rock that's whole
When there is no water
to carve out natural bowls?

Stone is better when touched by the rain,
No longer dry and dusty but beautiful again,
For the colours of a rock are best seen
When it's underwater,
lightweight and clean.
Stones are sturdy,
but unwelcoming and rough.
They sooner become smooth
with water's gentle touch.

Maybe we are different, a dichotomy,
But without you, what then would I be?

If I'm happy with where I be
Then that's fitting in enough for me.

I realized today that we live in a house without hope.
I want to be there for my family, but I don't know how to cope.
There are so many flowers growing in our yard,
But there isn't any sunshine in the winters of our heart.
I want to fix it all, but I don't know where to start.

Yeah, we learned to live without a father,
But never knew the full extent:
That our mother's heart was long absent.
We're all so broken, and we're all so bent.
God, oh God, we'd make a change if we at least knew HOW.
I never knew how much we needed You until now.

I see so many smiling faces
In all so many shining places,
And none of them have any clue
How deep the darkness gets.