Father had a burning soul
Go on
Drank himself into a hole
No way out

He wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t a bad man

Father had a burning soul
Go on
He could’ve should’ve loved ‘em all
One by one

He wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t a bad man

In his defense, he never asked to be born
He seemed content to see
The world with his eyes closed

Now I’ve got a burning soul
What now?
Both ends of my prayer candle
Are burned out

In my defense
I was raised by a blind man on fire
Who was raised to lip sync in his church choir
So, I’m not a saint and I’m not a singer