by: Marie-Andrée

A deadbeat father and a brother favoured.
His father his bottle was all he savoured.
Never good enough, never made him proud.
Had to leave that house of shame shroud.

So, the big city, all grey and black.
Goodness and kindness it doth lack.
Fighting the bad, fighting the crime.
Trying to make up for wasted time.

A fine commander, a respected man.
But no stronger now than when he began.
Still so many wounds, a broken heart.
Always hoping for a fresh start.

Some bad fathers make bad men.
And some good sons, too, when They decide to let go of the past
And be not what their fathers cast.