Joe Pug Follow

Welcome home, my son. It's been so very long.
I know that you're here to surrender.
The disappointing days I suffered at your age
Were more than I'd care to remember.

Before you throw the towel and turn your engines out,
Don't expect to spit all that you tasted from your mouth.
After all you've seen, the most you'll hope to be
Is pretending to be a pretender.

In the years that I've been through, I've met a gentle few
Who've said that they love and they mean it.
The others that I've met - they're decent folks, I guess -
But all that they love is achievement.

The swagger and the dress, the trappings of success,
The butter and the milk of what it takes to get ahead.
Any given night, you'll catch them dead to rights,
Painting their name on the ceiling.

Remember in the end that many of your friends
Would rather be dead than uncertain.
They want a simple 'yes', or even better yet,
A promise the next life is perfect.

A promise that it's not? Then, what have they got?
Only fifty years and never gave a moment's thought.
Anyone they find who tells them otherwise
They'll follow him backwards and shirtless.

Welcome home, my son. It's been so very long.
I know that you're here to surrender.