A Father’s Son

Knee deep and born into it,

You didn't ask for this and don't I know it?

A father's son,

We couldn't hope for less.

Pry these workds from my cold dead lips,

Home is where the heart is.

And the ghosts I draw

Will leave you cold.

A bankrupt father

To skin and bones.

I'm moving over;

I'm making room for you.

I'm making room.

I will occupy the space between

What you say and what you mean.

And you say

That the devil's in the detail.

And if that's true

When he is through with me he will

Sure as hell be after you.

And the ghosts I draw

Will leave you cold.

A bankrupt father

To skin and bones.

We escape, we escape, we escape

With our minds made up.

We escape, we escape, we escape

And our time is up.