The Prodigal Son

Dreams of us would carry me on That day has come and gone Born to be the prodigal son We are worn men, soon to become extinct Reminding ourselves to breathe Your curse upon the chosen son I spited you that day Defiance was the plight I curse the night I had to leave That day of my infant life Movement entangled with grace Swarming like vapor waves The last choice you could have made You chose to wither away Wither away The broken heart of the mother The shattered arm of the father --- The Prodigal Son - Fallujah