daughter

For every time I'm short with her For every time I'm cross For every time I execute the say-so of "the boss" I feel a bit more guilty I feel a little less I start becoming a little more... lost. ...just lost Like the end of the road isn't as clear as I think I need I then begin to dig at that guilt for even passing my seed for having done the dirty deed the daughter out of wedlock (which simply wasn't done "back in the day") I know the end will direct me where I prophesize that is - if I really absolutely try one way around another and yet eye see there is still another a will; a want; a desire something lighting my fire And still I continue constructing these caves these walls made of roadblocks I continue to be waylaid I begin to reconsider, why should I even stay? And yet I keep swimming upstreams to cut new blocks to build new passageways amidst the rocks to knock off my own stinkin' socks and forget the bad thoughts that swim around in my locks metaphorically speaking I halt and scream "Stop" Yes Stop the world I do want to get off I want to enjoy a light vacation on an escalator sky Sometimes I ask the Goddess, Please dry these leaky eyes And as she sighs, I feel her breeze attempt to dry my weapy eyes I bow beneath her brow, devoted to a life of "try" So try me again sweet daughter of mine, forgive me my sins, if being human is a crime.. but please know my little love that you're precious as a pearl I shall try to hold your hand as we maneuver this world.