Each time I strum that guitar,
	I hurdle words like rocks,
Every death intelligleble upon my frame,
	With defeaning clarity and startling truth,

Each time I raise my eyes to the heavens,
	You seep farther from my blood,
And everytime a breath escapes,
	It stifles oceans of tears,

When I look into the mirror,
	I seem to be my father staring back at me,
A little part you surfaces,
	It fades, but it's your victory,

Each new thought focused on you,	
	I age and my soul cracks,
Like the old linoleum floors and Captin crunch couches,
	My father's daughter, gazing back at me,