Well here’s a tale I’ve not yet told:
I was evicted when I was eight years old.
I was shipped off to a dormitory,
Full of kids who made no sense to me,
And I cried myself to sleep each night
For three straight weeks til I was dead inside.
But I’m not asking for your pity;
It’s just that fairytales about fathers make me angry.

I was never taught how to deal with this,
But I soldier onwards nonetheless.
I’m fatherless
And it makes me feel like I’m an alien.
Oh lord what I wouldn’t give
For a caregiver who had care to give.
I’m alone and I don’t know
How or if to be a man.

Look at me now.

Vacancy, job vacancy:
I need somebody to be the making of me,
Someone to take me fishing.
You can’t blame a grown up kid for wishing.
Someone to teach me how to shave,
To tut over the mistakes I’ve made,
And to offer me some fatherly advice.
Some kind of acknowledgement would be nice.

Do I make you proud?

Have you heard the news?
I finally found Jesus.
He’d locked himself in the bathroom at the party,
I had to talk him down he was having a whitey. And he said,
"Francis, I don’t need this -
The expectations and relentless pressure
Of a distant and judgemental father."
And I said, "I can see what you mean, JC,
But at least he’s paying some kind of attention
To his miraculously spawned conception.
But for some of us, we struggle to be seen.
And I sold my soul to rock and roll
In a desperate throw to even be noticed at all."

Am I enough of a man?