Barnabas Sins Of The Fathers
Timeless, on the edge of any city
A field of weathered stones
Watching, all alone
Marks the fitful resting place
Of silent, stirring bones
Some that pass before us
We, in guilt, cannot let go
An old man runs his hands through tattered memories
Of dreams that wouldn't wait
The future; much too late
One foot caught in yesterday, the other near the grave
Conveniently removed from sight
With little fight, he fades away
So many things remain unsaid
So many signals never read
Behold the unenlightened truth
Of blind, unfeeling youth
Growing up, a child is surrounded
Towering above, so rudely pushed and shoved
By those who've lost the child-heart
Demanding, without love
Limping into parenthood
The son becomes what father was
So many things remain unsaid
So many signals never read
Behold the pitiful results
Of unfulfilled adults
The rivers of our lives run
Under many bridges burned
No river runs forever
Is a lesson sorely learned
So little time for things unsaid
So little time before we're dead
Behold life's bright and fragile flower
So easily devoured
Timeless, on the edge of any memory
A figure stands alone
A knife-blade, keen and cold
That wounds the heart of every man
Who's love was never told
Some that pass before us
We, in guilt, cannot let go
