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An Endless Reprise

from Regards by The Father

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lyrics

Mourning the morning's good grace of your memory
A smile that would crack a lip into weeping in warning
Of that truth in the bathroom mirror
The more I would write, the further that knife thrust into me
And exed out the eyes, pull the pound from my back, I'll cut you out of me
But how many lives must we sift from the bones at the bottom
A well dark and dry, cold and lonely, of that truth
An endless reprise of playing the losing hand's bet
I'll strike out the "I" as the scales tip so hard to my side
Now can we admit I was right?
I built this well from the floor row by row by row
With my curse in your throat
Yes this is my low road
And you're down all of these alleys alone
Shout it out, I'm so wrong

credits

from Regards, released September 21, 2011

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The Father San Diego, California

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