You cried to me on the porch steps, like a small boy.
The round moon bearing down, and the cigarette smoke shifting
I held my arms out, but I realized a second too late,
That I am not capable of saving you anymore.

Your mother probably would have looked at me like I was crazy,
if she were still here to see the person that you have become,
But I sometimes like to hope that she would have embraced me,
With her warm eyes and her warm voice,
Because you were always her favorite,
And now you are mine,
and at least that is something that we could have shared.