Prodigal Son

Prodigal Son
Staring at a cross of splintered wood
My sins washed away in Christ’s own blood
All my blessings gone though my life it lingers on
Going home in my memory

Between the years and the miles I am broken and down
Bless me Father, where do I begin
On my hands and my knees I go crawling back home
To find absolution within

Eighteen years old but not yet a man
With misplaced ideologies
Recognizing only God as my equal
Left home and disgraced my family

With a dream in my head and a reckless soul
Sensing I would soon be free
I took to heart my granddad’s fables
Made up the core of my identity

For eight long years I tramped through the fallout of nuclear society
The underclass, forgotten mass in a nation of revelry

Fair the well my old dear friend
The road goes ever on but I am going home
Back to where it all began

In a filthy, run down tenement
I set out to spread God’s name
I thought the Word would start the fire
And my voice would fan the flames

But I soon learned that in this hopelessness
A great many things went unsaid
My first lesson was that good intentions
Aren’t gonna keep you warm and fed

With no recourse I took a job at the packing house, no
one who I could edify
As my dreams like leaves in autumn, disappeared before
my eyes