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What's the point in listening when your words are filled with lies,
a spoken sense of burning down your bridges and your ties.
Phone calls laced with memories of what will never be,
the judge's voice is cold and clear, "no more family"

Buried in a graveyard, next to my childhood,
it's just a place I visit because "it'll do me good".
When I grow up, I will thank you and Dad for this,
but I won't pretend I forgive you when you say "sorry, kids"

What's the point in listening when your words are filled with lies,
a spoken sense of burning down your bridges and your ties.
Phone calls laced with memories of what will never be,
the voice of Death is cold and clear, "no more family"

We'll be buried in a graveyard, next to my childhood,
the eulogy suggests that we once said "we could."
Life is not about us, for you and Dad at least,
so don't expect forgiveness when you say "we're sorry"

We stand on our own, looking for a place to call our home

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