We were happy once, days in bed just wasting time
chasing sights, surfing the web, sharing amazing finds.
It was a basic life, but worth the effort we put in
sex all over the house, not one place we did not sin.
After 3 months we had news, good news and lots of it
sat on a stool outside the bathroom, the test read back positive,
- we stood blue. Contemplating life and an extra pair of feet
but we came around to the idea not long after, maybe 2 weeks.
We sold the car, bought a saloon, you know the shit you do
trying to become the family man the way they expect you to.
9 months in the making, we're ready... we're embracing this,
been through good and bad, how hard can it be to raise a kid?
Sat in the hospital that night, pacing a line like I was on a tether
but to produce a diamond, you need a certain degree of pressure
After it was far from leisure, sleepless nights. it sort of bored me
our pillow talk turned from foreplay to listening to the walkie talkie
mess all over the home, we'd grown an hurricane to rage our house
we blamed each other for not doing enough, if we could see us now.
Changing diapers was no easy task, the feat was passed between us
the feelings of love kept us believing that, he'd grow to be a phoenix.
Rebirthing in our flames, blazing a trail in life and we'd help him fly,
until the end of time we'd hold his hand and in our grasp he'd see the sky.
We'd put him to sleep at night, guarded by an entourage of plush toys
bedtime story, night light on. His face flushed with happiness. Just joy.
Awoke the next morning to no sound, he must be settling down a bit,
so we slept in a little later, in every rest we could find we'd drown in it.
Went to check afterwards, our hearts sunk, we just wanted to up and run
there was no sign of life any more just a plush doll shaped like a son/sun.
The doctors arrived, it was enough to make both of us cry, all night.
What we'd taken for granted, gone, the bottom of the bottle felt like a knife.
The doctor said he'd suffocated to death in his sleep, he was weak.
what we'd mistaken for peace had become war with ourselves in our dreams,
and yet the good die young, he wasn't given a chance... he was done
the only chances I have any more are seeing his face when I'm drunk.
The funeral was as expected, hard to bare... I wish I was dead instead
It's funny how the smallest coffins although light seem to be the heaviest.
The night has settled. Our sun has set.
And we're left just plodding onwards...
Looking for the light that left.
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