Dry Eyes - Household

I get no respect behind my back

I think it’s due time to grow up

Confess the courage that I lack in my choices, my weak will

My tendency to tear through nothing

I made my bed and I will die in it

We all grow old if given the chance

Pray with tired voices and folded hands

Father

Perceptions add up and maul on top of each other

Like blankets upon weaving others have stitched together

I am biased and bullied by barely anything

Yet I let it, let it get the best of me

My hands were once lifted high

Now they lay low like my spirit

They dangle at my side

My hands were once lifted high

And I will lift them again