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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.