As the cold wind blows the rain across the street,
I still wonder what it would've been like if you were here.
I wonder what it would've been like if I hadn't lived in that dirt floor house,
Or if my parents had actually been around.
Now you’re sealed in wood and mortar,
With nothing but a picture of you in my mind.
Followed by the image of you hanging in the air,
And your father crying over the defibrillator.
I wonder what it would have been like if I had had a home,
If my first memory wasn't a father covered in blood of his own.
What I would be like if I could forever remove the memory,
Of me laughing in a tub covered in crimson of my body.
But in the end I have to be grateful.
From dirt floors and misery, to the doors of a university.
And a solemn promise to my future children,
That they won’t have to see the things I've seen.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 12:33 AM UTC
As the cold wind blows the rain across the street,
I still wonder what it would've been like if you were here.
I wonder what it would've been like if I hadn't lived in that dirt floor house,
Or if my parents had actually been around.
Now you’re sealed in wood and mortar,
With nothing but a picture of you in my mind.
Followed by the image of you hanging in the air,
And your father crying over the defibrillator.
I wonder what it would have been like if I had had a home,
If my first memory wasn't a father covered in blood of his own.
What I would be like if I could forever remove the memory,
Of me laughing in a tub covered in crimson of my body.
But in the end I have to be grateful.
From dirt floors and misery, to the doors of a university.
And a solemn promise to my future children,
That they won’t have to see the things I've seen.
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