What songs will he sing?
I sing him my songs, the songs my mother sang
This is the refrain that has authored me
The composition writes itself out
From the hands of a flawed house
It leads and drags in thematic dissonance
With Unhinged stoicism
An earnestly contrived guiding hand
Affectionately detached
Ballad of the father that I am
A caesura filling with love
A nocturne of what I need to be better than
I sing the songs my mother sang
