As I sit and shake my head
hurt and bruised by the words you said
I look about and wonder why
I have not already said goodbye
perhaps it is not the season
perhaps you don't see reason
all I know is that when I'm here
I pace the halls in constant fear
of what I may say or do
to draw your ire the way I do
I know my daughter needs a dad
but I think I will soon go mad
I know I can't take much more
before I am out the door