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A ghost in the doorway, a bill on the floor
A shadow that’s pacing, a lock on the door
The smoke in the hallway is thick and it’s gray
A debt that was left for a stranger to pay
The blood in the veins isn't always the truth
There’s a hole in the ceiling, a leak in the youth
And the walls are as cold as the ash in the tray.

A house built of wood by a hand that stayed
A debt that was earned, but never was paid
The hardest of words is a mountain to climb
A name that got lost in the passage of time
The least he deserves is the one thing unheard
The weight of a crown in the shortest of words.
(Dad.)

The coffee is steaming, the kitchen is quiet
A war in the spirit, a silent-born riot
A seat at the table that’s always been filled
By the ghost of a man that the silence has killed
The "belonging" is missing, a piece of the glass
The shadows are long and they’re heavy to pass
And the trust is a bridge that is starting to rust.

A biological stranger, a biological ghost
The man in the hallway is the one who did most
The anger is armor, the silence is steel
A wound that is older than anyone feels.

The debt isn't paid.
The name isn't said.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe tomorrow.
Dad.

Indie 
Sam fender style