The day we laid my father to rest,
I was so ****** up I couldn't move,
Let alone see straight.
You name it, I was on it that day.

The moment my girl told me we had to go,
I stood on shaky legs,
Shook my head and put on the face,
Of the man my family needed me to be.

I drove to the funeral home,
A city away,
Dressed to impress and drugged to carelessness.

I was so ****** up that night,
That I nodded out with my eyes open,
While the priest who married my parents,
Gave the eulogy.

It's a good thing I was so ****** up,
So that I didn't rip that ******* priest apart,
When he told me it was a holy experience,
To find my father dead like that.

What's so holy about it father?
The fact that I need to be so medicated that I pass out,
In order to sleep at night?

Or the fact that I could care less,
If I dosed a little too much,
Every time I push the plunger down?

Tell me, what is so holy about it, priest,
The fact that my father wasn't even twice my age,
Or that I'll be dead before I reach his?