Alex Dimitrov - Dish Washer lyrics

My father's first job in America was washing dishes In an upscale suburban restaurant he hated so much He'd bring the food home and never touch it Would rather go hungry than live on that food My mother and I stayed up waiting for him Every night like a ritual—school night, Saturday Night, we stayed up—distracting ourselves by Telling Bulgarian folktales, dancing to music Videos, anything to keep from falling asleep, anything Not to miss him walk through that door, his eyes Bloodshot, a wet ring around his shirt, exhausted And utterly himself, my father. My kiss On his cheek the only thing I knew would help him Go back there, and return to us again the next night