The Mocking Tides

He shed an generous tear, far from honest
Confessed his sins to the prying sailor
Who told the tale of strangers passing
This father is mourning the death of himself

Through the window, the lights flickered
A rose is left wilting
Dead petals fall, thorns retain their strength
Beauty is the first to die

No audience left to marvel
No neighbours to chorus
Lack of apparent meaning

I was hoping for this to blow over
I was hoping for this to blow over
I was hoping for this to blow over

I was hoping for this to blow over
I was hoping for this to blow over

He shed an generous tear, far from honest
Confessed his sins to the prying sailor
Who told the tale of strangers passing
This father is mourning the death of himself
The death of himself
The death of himself