Well I am writing this drunk, br had too many beers br on the eve of my birthday br with, it seems, little to cheer. br With my wife and her father br we're signing a song br and the evening as usual br has gone, gone all wrong. br br She is so tearful br and I'm taking offence. br The father that raised her br and made her all that she is; br is that her defence? br And when will she see br her tears make no difference br the past is the past br and he never can mend br the pain and the guilt br the lost childhood and teens br can anyone ever put back the time br and regain what was lost br through follies of crime. br br No this is a verse br that never can rhyme br because the past is the past br and her emotions are prime. br So what should I do? br Continue writing this story br of lost times and glories br No, I will not become another br that simply succumbs br Spirit in Its glory br Is here all the same br whatever the players br whatever the game. br br Nothing prepared br for the wrath that ensued br when the alcohol br burnt through the very short fuse br but spirit it came in the depths of the night br and brought a vision br too beautiful for sight. br The walls that surround us br were made of pure love br and everything around me br was sent from above br and without any features br your face it was seen br as if it had always br been watching the scene.