Lance's Dad

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad

I move in small circles, not small enough to hide

I loved that Catholic boy and the people that died

Though life's a bitch, if it's not a destination

Then why all these lives of quiet desperation?

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

Pen to paper or index to key

It's all the same, just a need to be free

A rhyme or a reason; things to express

If not, what's the point? Let's just all regress

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

Earliest memory: sister's silhouette

Out of shower, very wet

Mother's slap, frontal lobe

Sister covered in a robe, vision flashing like a strobe

Life's small vignettes

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

This song was written for

Lance's dad, Lance's dad

It's late and I ramble

I'm not a musician: I have trouble playing the radio

I have no interest in fame