Sins of the Father
They say the sins of the father pass to the son
But really it's just the anger that runs through the blood
So then I must ask, "thirteen years, and what've I got?"
A spiteful empty heart, and a temper that runs oh so hot
A wall built up in my own mind, brick laid hand by wrathful hand
Friendship buried beyond these empty eyes, lost like shifting desert sand
His blood runs hot through my veins, there's no denying that
Contaminates my heart, makes me feel like a rat
The mear memory of him burns bridges and drives apostasy
From this crime I did not commit, though, my mind offers no clemency
But there beyond the blackened desert of my soul, I hear a friendly call
And so towards that light, I do begin to crawl
So then I must ask, "sixteen years, and what've I got?"
the memories of that dark past buried and left to rot
Now I'm with friends again, and happy for this
But socialization exposes vulnerabilities, and I'm not so comfortable with that risk
So I drop the wall a bit, and peer from the otherside
As that black desert experiences a sunrise
So then I must ask, "seventeen years, and what've I got?"
A happier life, school going well
Applications going out, but where I'll go, who can tell
A date to the prom with a wonderful friend
And yet something in me yearns to see him again
Now I'm eighteen, and that question is no longer repeated
College has begun, and to my studies I've retreated
The wall continues to fall, bit by bit
Spurred on by a roommate who's not content to let it just sit
But then comes the ultimate folly; I acquire his phone number
And give him a call, and as it rings, I feel progressively number
He picks up, and we're both softly crying
But that was a mistake, for I presumed in those years he was done lying
When really, as always before nothing came before himself
So now I'm nineteen, and have to ask again, what've I got?
Tortured dreams of seeing him shot
They teased for a while, but no longer persist
As I'm content with pretending that he no longer exists
It had slowly dawned on me that one need not play Atlas to the crimes of their father
When you've your own life, and do not need to live that of another
So it's up to you to define who you are as a person
And so you realize the power you're given, and freed from that burden
Liberated to realize the friends you've had the whole time
And only have to carry the guilt for your crimes
So yes, the Sehensucht, it'll never be outran
But now I'm free to be my own man
Because, though they say, the sins of the father pass to the son
It's only in my blood that he does run