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turkce

dan hill - memories (revisited)

memories of when i was a little boy, four years old,
waiting for my daddy to come home,
and now i look into the eyes of my own son,
wondering what he\'s thinking of,
waiting at the window when i come home.
watch his eyes fill up with joy and wonder.
he reaches out his tiny hands;
i feel the bond \'tween boy and man.
memories of my mom cryin\', my daddy gone for weeks at a time,
not knowing how to comfort her,
facin\' my pillow, pretendin\' not to hear.
now i write this letter to my little boy.
i\'m far away, not knowing really what to say
except, "i\'m sorry, oh so sorry."
i don\'t want to make these same
mistakes my daddy made with me.
still his voice rolls off my tongue
when i say, "boy, protect your mom."
memories of my wife crying on the phone
wonderin\' when i\'m coming home.
my voice sounds detached and cold,
reminds me of someone that i knew;
he had a funny attitude
when i needed him to be
all the things only a daddy could be to me.
and i don\'t want to make the same
mistakes my daddy made with me.
still his voice rolls off my tongue
when i say, "not now, i\'m busy son."
memories of lying in bed with my wife and son,
overwhelmed by so much love,
tryin\' to explain how a man can cry
yet still be happy,
thinking of all the dumb mistakes i\'ve made.
now i understand my father\'s pain;
he did the best with what he knew.
i love you daddy.
i watched my son fall asleep
and wonder what he\'ll think of me
when years from now he sees his son
reaching out his tiny hands for love.