Father of sin
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?
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
For whose sake
have you spawned me then,
if life ain’t no piece of cake?
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?
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
Oh and when will the fruit of the heritage fall on me to bear justice
to all this attention and the endless service?
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.