that had him shaking in fear
He curled up under the blankets,
would not be like most other nights
The footsteps on the gravel pathway
served to announce the arrival
of the excuse that was indeed his father.
The fumbling of the key in the lock,
followed by under the breath
and then the crash of the door
unceremoniously into its hole,
all served to confirm his worst
ever recurring nightmare.
Please God, please let him go to sleep.
Oh, please God, just make him sleep
Get down these stairs boy,
get down here now, belts his father
Get down these stairs assistant
He became an grier and angrier
and the interventions of his poor mother
were swatted away like a blue bottle.
Get here, get down the stairs boy.
Sing it, and sing it good.
if he made the slightest error.
a verse in the wrong place,
a note slyly out or off -key,
he'd freeze unable to open his mouth,
instead he'd literally piss himself
as he stood there in the shadow
at this fucking excuse for a father.
He'd sing and give it his all,
how little sleep he'd managed to grab,
would sink into his usual armchair
or a cheap cigar still burning,
how he wished that one night that fag would
ignite his father to be a safe waistcoat
as he slept and burn that bastard
where he sat slumped in his stupor.
leave him alone, leave the boy.
But of course, this would inevitably end up in tears for her,
or on occasion, a proper boutin'
He was singing for his bloody life,
At the times he'd bat a leather belt
across his backside to pay the price
For a fumbled word he reckoned
were too many even to think of
Meetings turned into memories
But you know the old adage
that time is a great healer, right?
Yeah, well there's some scars
that just cannot be healed
They're not visible, but they're there
The deep and the sore as hell
And with you whether you like it or not
No matter what you try to do to master
and this boy became a man
And that man became a father
A father to a beautiful daughter
For whom he'd lay down his life
It'd be great to tell you
that his dad got his comeuppance
But the truth is I don't know
I have this picture in my mind
Maybe at family gathering,
And the father having a pint
And trying to cajole his son
into singing that bloody song
Come on son, sing Daddy Boy
You know, for old times' sake
No, you sing fucking Daddy Boy
You sing fucking Daddy Boy
And the father squares off, brash,
no fuck's given, no remorse
And all that son wants to do
is give his father a good hiding
He's shaking, he's livid,
and he wants to send that head in
But instead he doesn't give his
Doesn't give his father the opportunity
to think scores are settled
He looks him in the eye, shakes his head,
walks to his beautiful little daughter
and holds her like his life depends on it. He's the bigger man,
and he will never sink to the depths
of that cowardly, callous fucker,
4.7
