Howl At the Moon

When she was 8, You howled at the moon, and caught the attention of the men in blue. You steered across the line, You argued, You spat until the night sky faded into dawn, and they deemed you worthy of wandering home. But in those hours of darkness, she sat with an empty space on the blanket looking up at the stars as fireworks burst around her and asked why you weren't there. When she was 17, You howled at the moon. It was late and you had learned, So you hung your head out the window while the rain stung against your skin. You taunted a cop, You laughed, you puked, As she fearfully drove you home. In tears, she declared that she could not leave you there alone. You were her dad. She stayed. She watched. She wanted to be there...for you. When she was 19, You bought her some beer. It was late. There were friends. You felt like a kid again, partying with the crowd, And you were a hit, the provider, the crazy one. They rallied around as you slurred your words. You laughed. They laughed. She laughed. This was the way to have fun. You explained that this was not her first rodeo. She was going to do what she was going to do and you were going to be along at her side As she howled at the moon. When she was 23, she howled at the moon. Her skirt was short. Her top was low. She danced. She drank. And so did you. You were guiding her, you said. It was just good ol' fun. Except it wasn't fun when they pulled her out of the mangled steel and covered her face and shook their heads, And now you howl at the moon, deeply, sorrowfully, howl at the moon.