Stab Yer Dad

Intro: Of the things that have made me, I count myself lucky. I consider it fortune, things like how I wasn’t taught at a young age to respect my elders. I thank goodness for my absence of a father. He could have taken me out, we’d have gone camping. I could have learned to wield my body as a weapon. These are things that I won’t be missing. I remember sitting in the car with my dirty old man as he explained how “she has asked for it” and how “it was her fault” I’m only glad I didn’t take the bait. I remember telling my mother It was the last time I saw my father. No regrets for what else I’ve been missing. ‘Cause I’m not jealous of a well adjusted family, only Killing time ‘till they learn their anomaly don’t help the wounded ones: the children of the vengeful fathers. When everyone I know is still standing in the shadows of the men who left their mark, I’d rather be left in the dark. oh oh. If our fathers were our role models for god and they failed us, what does that tell us about our supposed omnipotent savior? Except we’re all born to fiction, daily recreated we play the roles from the stories we learned as kids. Who bends down? Who plays god? Is it fated that every boy on this earth should have his head stuck up his ass? We’re all just like our dads. We keep learning the same shit again. And I wonder how long till it ends? I remember when my dirty old man told me how I’d grow up to be just like him when I got old. What a bizarre thing to be told, to be told