These days my life seems somehow like a tired old cliché
Like a bad movie scene that just goes on and on
With dialogue like it's so sad how fast time slips away
Oh you never really miss them till they're gone
Funny how these old clichés come true
I never thought I'd miss him but I do
My father died in summer and all he left behind
Were little scraps of paper, little scraps of rhyme
I read them and felt something inside me break
And angrily cried out too late, too late
Surely there must be something better
Surely there must be something better
He and I were always strangers searching for someone
I was looking for a hero and he a friend
So while I searched for my father he was looking for his son
And strangers we remained until the end
But the man who wrote his heart into those rhymes
I knew he could have been a good friend of mine
My father died in summer and all he left behind
Were little scraps of paper, little scraps of rhyme
I read them and felt something inside me break
And angrily cried out too late, too late
Surely there must be something better
Surely there must be something better
So I sit here where he lived and died as the ghosts around me weave
And the evening shadows lengthen on the wall
And in this dark and empty room it's easy to believe
That he never lived at all
But the little scraps of paper in my hand
Prove he lived for me, the father and the man
My father died in summer and all he left behind
Were little scraps of paper, little scraps of rhyme
I read them and felt something inside me break
And angrily cried out too late, too late
Surely there must be something better
Surely there must be something better
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