Opinion -

The first thing I remember was the friction in the room

And that brown spinet piano that never played in tune

The cruel impatient tyrant, the frustrated malcontent

The need to find the pieces, and the absence of cement

No one ever told me about the right way to love

And no one ever showed me what we’re supposed to be made of

So don’t be too forthright about what you think that I should be

And I’ll willingly accept your low opinion of me

The last thing I remember was the slamming of the door

And the resonance of my imperfection broke the silence once more

The selfish angry bastard who doesn’t want to hear

I tried to learn compassion you turned the other ear

The worn out broken record who doesn’t fit the mold

The righteous independent, the mood so harsh and cold

Mama never told me about the right way to love

And daddy never showed me what we’re supposed to be made of

So don’t be too forthright about what you think that I should be

And I’ll willingly accept your low opinion of me