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I never knew my mother |
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I can't say it was so bad |
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She was still a girl of seventeen the night she met my dad |
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He was just six months out of chino |
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Trying his hardest to stay clean |
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And they'd sing and they'd sing and they'd sing |
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Like doves sleeping with broken wings |
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In a bed fit for a king |
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It didn't mean a thing |
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It was shot gun forest wedding |
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And they forgot to bring the gun |
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As they were busy counting promises |
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To the children not yet born |
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No one could afford the ride |
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Everyone hitched up with the 101 |
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And they'd sing and they'd sing and they'd sing |
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Like doves dancing with broken wings |
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With a view fit for a king |
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It didn't mean a thing |
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It was a loneliness |
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They would confess |
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Like the world had gone bad I guess |
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So they hold hands and look into the eyes of god |
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They'd say tell me why'd ya hide from us |
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Why'd ya fill the world with wickedness |
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Why'd ya spare us from the grace but not the rot |
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Now my dad says **** the details |
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Just keep your head down hard |
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Ya got to find yourself alone before you'll find the eyes of God |
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You make broke and scared and out of jail |
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Out the flesh of your own heartstrings |
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But you were born to be a peasant not a king |
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So just stop acting like your running from something |
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Ya gonna leave the way you came without a thing |
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With your heart tattooed and your mind tied to a string |
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You just sing and you sing and you sing |
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It doesn't mean a thing |
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