Dad’s Tool Closet (4/3/1987)

Dad’s tool closet (4/3/1987)

Hear whistling down the basement
Calls me like a preacher to church
She said I hum all day long
That’s where I get it from

Stumble down in a hurry know
My time with him is limited
So I try to make the most of it

He’s whistling while he putters on
Behind a big wooden door sits
Land of wonder for me to explore
Tools and Nicholson’s file where
He used to work

But the door seemed like a key
To figuring out daddy’s soul

Pretty much the only time we connected
He would show me how it works

Better than sittin in EJ’s Place sucking down Cokes
And getting dimes to slip in a pinball machine
Waiting to go home with him

Don’t want to perpetuate and
Continue down broken roads

I’m old but I’ve got to figure it out
Souls of my love deserve much more
From a drunken sailor of mail

Have to find the key to my big wooden door
Let the little ones in to me
As I hear whistling in the distance

Think I found the key
Always lost inside of me
Daddy’s tool closet held a clue
He just didn’t know what to do

Try to teach as I learn
Temper is still too strong
But as these sunrises
Finding a register for my impulses

Just as quick match is lit
Still learning after all these days