It's a shame, I think.
You know, the man whose last name I wear,
Like and itchy sweater,
Is still here, still breathing,
Still stirring up old memories.
That man used to be my daddy.
Now he's a stranger wearing my daddy's clothes,
Wearing my daddy's face, wearing my daddy's cologne,
And driving my daddy's car.
My daddy passed away a long time ago,
Left me with an emotionless clone of him
And a pocket full of hope.
My daddy has been gone for what feels like ages.
This impostor pretends to care, pretends to be the man that raised me,
Pretends to be my favorite person, pretends to know me better than I know myself,
And what's worse, pretends **** is just something you do in your spare time
But when you lose your job, all you have is spare time.

My daddy always told me not to be sad when he died
Because he knew he'd die doing something he loves,
But what could he loved so much that is was more appealing than his only daughter.
How could he not know that by dying this way,
There'd be no spirit to stay with me,
No body for me to cremate the way he wanted.
How could he not know that I needed him to stay
So I could practice all of the things he taught me?
How could he not know that every little girl needs her daddy,
not someone wearing his skin,
not fond memories and fairy tales

My daddy died a long, long time ago.
If I had known better then, I would have payed attention
Enough to be able to to have a time of death or even a date
At the memorial service I'll never get to have.
The man who wears my daddy's meatsuit has done so much damage
That no one stops to consider this man isn't my daddy at all.

Don't they all know he's dead?