Going Postal
There is no place for me to go
I'll spend my life right here I know,
I lost my job then lost my dough
Last night I lost my bride with adio'!
I stayed the straight and narrow road,
And carried, always, my own load.
Missed not a day of work, I'm told,
For twenty years. No pocket watch of gold?
It tore my heart apart you see;
They threw me out then tossed the key
Without a nod to loyalty
Or help me find a job at fifty-tjree.
So now I'm standin' over daddy's grave,
Ten days from calm to ragin' full-blown rave;
Hey daddy! I'm no good and I'm not brave
But I'll be killin' souls your God can't save:
I'm hopin for a score of fifty-three
One soul for every year of wretched me.
I do remember daddy tellin' me when I was young -
"I'm proud my son of every single song I've ever sung,
Because the wrongs I found in life to fire and ice were flung!
The Good Book said to cling to IT so to IT I have clung -
That Book was good to me young son and helped me climb each rung."
An unsophisticated man from birth until you died,
But damn it dad you took me to the brink of suicide;
I grew to be not me but you and you died satisfied.
But dad, life spent denying truth denied the Wolves outside.
I took a look at your Good Book and found profound its way -
Make sure you do to those who did to you and don't delay!
Hey dad, I thought I'd share with you, I bought my gun today
And it's a beaut you'd love to shoot and help me bag my prey;
But in the grave you stay to serve your well deserved decay.
I wish that I could do to you what I must do to them;
For you put all the evil in me I can't seem to stem.
My heart and body, now my blood, is turning pus and phlegm,
But when they're dead then I'll have fed my sweet revenge its gem,
So I can turn and kill myself and evil you did breed.
You lit your pious Book up bright, why not your evil seed?
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