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Sleeve Notes
These days my life seems somehow like a tired old cliche
A bad movie scene that just goes on and on
With dialogue like "It's so sad how fast time slips away"
Or "You never really miss them till they're gone"
Funny how these old cliches come true
Never thought I'd miss him but I do.
My father died in Summer, and all he left behind
Were little scraps of paper, little scraps of rhyme
I read them, and felt something inside me break
And angrily cried out "Too late, too late!"
Surely there must be something better
Surely there must be something better.
He and I were always strangers searchin' for someone
I was lookin' for a hero, and he a friend
So while I searched for my father he was lookin' for his son
And strangers we remained until the end
But the man who wrote his heart into those rhymes
I know he could have been a good friend of mine.
So I sit here where he lived and died, as the ghosts around me weave
As evening shadows lengthen on the wall
And in this bare and empty room it's easy to believe
That he never lived at all
But the little scraps of paper in my hand
Prove he lived to me; the father and the man.