Father of sin

(a father approaches son, aged 15)

Dad: Listen son, you have to. Ages have gone to a bitter fusion

and I have to strip you off the illusion.

Son: I’ve got my games and I’ve got my porn

what kind of wrong could be going on?

Dad:

Life ain’t any-more so neat

rent is more than half of salary

if you miss two month’s work

you’ll end on street

Son:

For whose sake

have you spawned me then,

if life ain’t no piece of cake?

Dad:

In times of prosperity it felt natural

to share the joy of life overall

Now the dark side of tech advance is ripe for harvest

and in my own children I had to invest.

Son: How so? If all turns to dread

what’s in it for me, be scarce on daily bread?

Dad:

Listen son, damn, if you live here till you’re thirty

I won’t be harsh nor bitter for ‘tis a necessity

Only then, you’ll find yourself a lover and a spouse

You’ll have to marry quickly without consulting much your muse

Because you’ll need to have for mortgage of small apartment

no time to pick the right one, can’t divorce the frivolent

And still I with whole family with instil upon you a pressure

spawn some children, son, the we know what it’s like to have grand-children

because we were born in prosperity and we still want to have it all.

And when you will be in apartment small with children squeezed

only then, years afterwards will your grand-father die and I will have my heritage seized

Don’t be too eager to reap those fruits, for I will keep it for my sake

well, not entirely, I will wait for your visits

where you, in your dependence will hope to taste it fruits

And I will give you some, in exchange for your attention

For I will have grown solitary

and will need you and grand son like a leech

to have audience for my speculation

Just like now, when you’re young and I am supposed to be your teacher

will I enforce my cabbage into your head all the time, like a preacher

Thus the grand-father’s money will be like a bribery

that you come and visit me, in your bitter dependence

with your spouse and children, ever humiliated

yet with smile of fake joy from seeing me again

Son:

Oh and when will the fruit of the heritage fall on me to bear justice

to all this attention and the endless service?

Father:

My son, don’t fret, no

for heritage there’ll be none

For dear own whiskies finest blend

all the money will have been spent

And when I grow old and with no money

yours taking care of me will be compulsory.