Saturday Night

歌詞

My old man died on a Saturday night. I watched as he just stopped breathing. And though it was awful and painful and sad, I was glad that he wasn't alone. It felt like something he'd just had to go through; an arduous task he'd been given. And it seemed so unfair it was his cross to bear; the sickest and weakest of us. Oh, we never spoke much as a father and son, but we had an understanding. And I still hear his voice when I open my mouth; in anger, or wisdom, or such. Or if I see a similar jacket or hair, I think for a moment I've found him. But then I remember, it's not about "where," and I know he's not lost, he is gone. I'm just glad that he wasn't alone.