Doing Fine from Unaffiliated by Johnny High Ground

What a way to start the year.
All the family friends were there
before the first big storm blew out
to put my father in the ground.
We went through all the policies,
we wrote a moving eulogy,
we each picked up a yellow rose,
we closed the box,
and we all went home.

Life returned to normal then;
there was work to do
and bills to send.
I updated my addresses
and fortified all my defenses.
Now those days are so well protected
behind a wall of
two thousand condolences
with the smell of aftershave
and dreams of being saved.

But I’m not in denial, anyway.
You can say what you will,
but I’m still doing fine,
and it’s obvious that
I’m not in denial, anyway.
You can say what you will,
but I’m still doing fine.

On the day after he went,
my mother got her birthday present:
in a vase of yellow roses,
the card read, “All my love.”
And a stunned silence descended.
He’d called it in from his deathbed.
That’s the kind of man he was.
I’ll never be half the man he was.

And no, I never dream about
a miracle recovery,
dream it was all a dream
and he’s still waiting there for me.
And no, I never dream about
taking back all that
senseless shouting.
And no, I never wonder why.
And no, I never cry.

• Rock
• alternative
• folk
• pop punk
• Cleveland