Father
After all the time apart
Your voice still sounds
Faint and worn out
Like a relit cigarette
Without a hint of smoke
I could still smell tobacco
And burning wood
On every article
On every limb
I wonder why
I am the way that I am
I try to stand firm
To a being proudly rooted
In virtue and patience
But is that rooted in me?
So I cut down the family tree
Whether it’s the wind or my axe
The apple still falls

Tough to read, man, but totally get how you feel