“Pop” by Rodney Eastman

Pop

You just can’t take ’em seriously Son
And lemme tell you why
They wake up and they paint their face
Their beauty is a lie
I pondered what my Father said
I guess it could be true
But she don’t paint her face at all
So now what do I do…

Huh?

I wanna be the kinda man
You once wanted to be
before the liquor and the pain
Was all that you could see
I never thought that I’d grow up
and be a guy like you
But sometimes your words
fall from my lips
And some of them ring true
But I’ll never lay a hand on her
Or criticize while drunk
You say it’s weak to let her win
Does that make me a punk
So Pop you think I’ve fallen short
of your measure of the man
But if you heard her voice
And saw her eyes
I think you’d understand…

Right?

One day the two of you might meet
At the bottom of my drawer
Of memories and photographs
Of things I’ve done before
Cause everything that’s good must end
Thank God the bad ends too
One day I may miss her as much
As I wish I could miss you…
Pop.

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