The burdens of the father
Who jealously watch life passing by
In a fair fight
And I'm thinkin' this is the season
I've heard that the son must bear
And I don't want you to think
Silently praying
But it's the daughter that is left to clean up the mess
Now I'm sitting, hearing my youngest cry down the hall
That I'm asking for absolution
Like some old gypsy curse
My first recollection is a day in November
Grow through the summer
Upon the dreams of those
Pile through the summer
Where I leave you all
And I don't want you to think
A murderer to murder, a thief to theft
And I'm thinking this is the season
I've sat and watched my troubles
Nothing was ever going to beat that beast
Umm, but run is what I did when put to the test
Moaning and snorting
Like some Cambrian monster
I've sat and watched the woodpiles
Falls back on what he knows best
Seven forty seven tracin' lines through the sky
Now I'm sittin', smellin' summer burn through the fall
Winter's coming on, days getting dreary
Winter's coming on, days gettin' dreary
That I leave you all
I've heard a man in a crisis
That this is some kind of deathbed confession
