|
(Lola) |
|
When I was just a kid |
|
everything I did, was to be like him |
|
under my skin |
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My father always thought, |
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if I was strong and fought |
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not like some albatross, I'd begin |
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to fit in |
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Look at me powerless and holding my breath |
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trying hard to repress what scared him to death |
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It was never easy to be his type of man |
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to breathe freely was not in his plan |
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and the best part of me |
|
is what he wouldn't see |
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I'm not my fathers son |
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I'm not the image of what he dreamed of |
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With the strength of Sparta and the patience of Job, |
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still couldn't be the one |
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to echo what he'd done |
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and mirror what was not in me |
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So I jumped in my dreams and found an escape |
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maybe I went to extremes of leather and lace, |
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but the world seems brighter six inches off the ground |
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and the air seemed lighter |
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I was profound and I felt so proud |
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just to live out loud |
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I'm not my fathers son |
|
I'm not the image of what he dreamed of |
|
With the strength of Sparta and the patience of Job, |
|
still couldn't be the one |
|
to echo what he'd done |
|
and mirror what was not in me |
|
The endless story of expectations swirling inside my mind |
|
wore me down |
|
I came to a realization and I finally turned around |
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to see |
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that I could just be me |
|
(Charlie) |
|
I'm not my fathers son |
|
I'm not the image of what he dreamed of |
|
(Lola) |
|
With the strength of Sparta and the patience of Job, |
|
(Charlie/Lola) |
|
still couldn't be the one |
|
to echo what he'd done |
|
and mirror what was not in me |
|
(Lola) |
|
We're the same, Charlie boy, |
|
you and me. |
