Father your failures are so grave
They have seeped to son
No amount of wishing
For grace to be regained or won
10, 000 pounds of hope
On the shoulders of one
It's clear to me
How the son has gone to seed
It's clear to me
How the roots shape the tree
If I found a penance to be paid
If I found a payment to be made
There's no real letter to write
To no real father of mine
With no real things
It's hard not to think
With no real things
It's hard not to sing
Father your failures are so grave
They have seeped to son
No amount of wishing
For grace to be regained or won