Lyrics
Daddy
My daddy’s a God-fearing man,
Says grace before the soup,
Drives that big old city bus
Like only saints can do.
He’ll pull up in the driveway
With wisdom by the pound,
Then unfold a lawn chair
In the living room downtown.
Ain’t no couches in his kingdom,
No recliners made of leather,
Just six fold-up chairs
Collected over twenty years of weather.
He says,
“Son, this one’s antique…”
With a tear within his eye,
“It came from Canadian Tire
Back in 1995…”
Oh, Daddy… Daddy…
Laurie means well,
But every simple story
Turns a forty-minute tale.
Somehow every conversation,
No matter where it’s pointing,
Ends with either poetry
Or one more dang oral pain.
Now if you ask about his paycheck,
Better clear your afternoon.
He’s got spreadsheets colored red and green
And highlighted maroon,
With seventeen different fonts
Explaining pension plans and tax,
And pie charts big as wagon wheels
To show where every dollar’s at.
He’ll say,
“Now let me tell you something
Deep about this life…”
Then quote a little poem
While he’s buttering his rice.
And if the sunset hits just right,
Lord help us all tonight,
He’ll start crying over squirrels
Or a painting of moonlight.
Oh, Daddy, Daddy
Softest heart in town
Can’t watch a dog commercial
Without breaking down
Every road he travels
Somehow keeps on pointing
Back to poetry, taxes,
And another little painting.
He cried at Toys “R” Us,
He cried at church,
He cried ’cause Tim Hortons
Got rid of maple merch.
And when somebody thanked him
For driving that old bus,
He cried so hard at supper
That he couldn’t finish lunch.
Oh, Daddy, Daddy
We all love you still
Even with your lawn-chair dining room
Up on the hill
Your long-winded sermons
And your stories never end,
But the world could use
A few more hearts
Exactly like yours, my friend.
Now he’s driving off at sunset,
Hands at ten and two,
Probably writing poems mentally
While driving Route 42.
With a folding chair beside him
And some spreadsheets on the dash,
Crying to Willie Nelson songs
And counting up his cash.
Running Down Vimy 