Father was [bad word] on the porch.
Quiet he's cleaning his guns
While we sat and watched the sun set
From the roof, drinking stolen beer,
The day I turned twelve.
Mama was losing her mind,
So we build a home in the woods
And I carved our names in the side
With a knife
We found beneath the house,
The day you turned twelve.

And I
always reminded of lies
That we told but never meant.
And tonight
Well, I still hear your grin
Like an echo sounding from my [bad word] on, let me in.

I remember the cast on your arm
From when we were convinced we could fly.
And I would cover it up in fake names
To make it seem
Like you were famous when
Came back to school.
And sure we never had much
But we did just as we pleased.
We had no concern for anything
Beyond the day
We were living in,
We had no need to dream.

And I
always reminded of lies
That we told but never meant.
And tonight
I can still hear your grin,
Like an echo sounding from my [bad word] on, let me in.