The memory is a precious thing
   Of what truths it can bring?

I remember being young
And hating the waiting to be old
Remembering the grown ups
   And the stories they told
Of being young, wild and free
I don't think that was ever me
  I grew up fast with an alcoholic dad
Always scared of making him mad
   He was tall and strong
Couldn't ever be wrong
But you see...
The
       value
              of
                   this
                          memory....

     Is that it's simply a reminder
Because it's no longer true
    He worked really hard
And pulled himself through
He's still very tall and strong
      But admits when he is wrong
He truly loves and deeply cares
    See why I value this memory?
Why it means so much to me?
It proves the
                 truth
                         will
                                set
                                     you
                                            free..