It was always little touches,
like down on the beach shore,
my uncle and my ears,
fifty cents of the coins,
Reach down and he'll pierce,
and show me the silver.

My Aunty
teaching me piano,

Lost are the choir of God's words,
I am underneath my father's Burdon,
He loves me so true and unconditionally,
but he's my ***** and my enabling.

But he's not to blame,
I brought on all the shame,
and my disgrace-ful  name,
It is and always be broken,
but this is not my destiny,
I still see her little wings,
and lullabies
she would sing.

Strangers are freezing to pierce,
I was handsome in my twenties
I have the dancing in my memories
and short skirts forever teasing.

Now, I am but the movement,
made out of an artist's stone,
Leaving behind my youth,
Creaking and smashing a booth
to a woman that can finally sooth.