I'd always been an active man who never much sat still
now all that gets me up is my routine or force of will
things have been so different since your mother up and died
she isn't here to talk to, or come sit with me outside

The two of us would spend a lot of time on our back porch
sitting in that old swing chair, at night we'd use a torch
we'd shine it round the garden and admire all the flowers
it brought some joy for both of us to wile away those hours

It was her heart they told me, for her death was very quick
I'm glad she didn't suffer, like she would have, were she sick
but now I sit alone while all the flowers wilt and die
imagining she's just gone out, yet knowing that's a lie

I also have been thinking of that awful, fateful day
when things were said I didn't mean, but that drove you away
then I hear your mother say, like she was sitting here,
“You have no other choice, don't let it go another year”

And so I've sent a letter, like the ones I sent before
and hope this time you read it and not send it back, ignored
My time is running out; that's why I need to see you soon
for I get old and sicker with each cycle of the moon

The tumour's spread so far the doctors can't do anymore;
and I'm too tired to fight this illness like I did before
But now I realise I'd focused all my energy
on what I figured could be fixed, instead of you and me

Forgive me, son, I'm begging you to let me make amends
I want to be the Dad you lost or, at the least, be friends
so I will sit here on our porch and wait for your reply
and hope you'll come and sit with me, just once, before I die