My father told me that when you are old and bony
And your hands are like your ashes and you're ready to end your story
You'll look back on your life with your dusty dead-drip eyes
And you'll wish more than you ever that you had a bit more time
But you can't get what you want when your ankle bones are shot
And your arms are twisted up and taking numbers
So you'll wait for days to come, but those days will never come
And eventually you'll just wait for an option
He had a crooked grin, and his breath always smelled of gin
But I've never known a father who was half the man as him
Now I am too old to have children of my own
I was just too selfish, now I just want a son to hold
But you can't get what you want when your ankle bones are shot
When your spine is twisted up and taking numbers
So I throw my fists into the air and pray that someone up there cares
While I'm screwing up my chances to reason with him
So if you're listening would you give me life again?
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