Papa's Ears

There is a hole in Papa's ears where all the words go.

Where they compete with all the headlines of the day.

The closer that I get, the farther away I seem to be.

Cause there's a hole in Papa's ears where all the words go.

We don't talk much anymore, I don't have much to say.

Hell, he couldn't begin to understand me anyway.

So we pass on by locking eyes with the shadow on the wall.

Cause there's a hole in Papa's ears where all the words go.

 

We live in different worlds and we talk a little more.

Little more than the weather or what's coming up today.

And it comes to me that more than occasionally.

That even I can make the headlines of the day.

 

Now a father of my own kids screaming in the lawn.

I try to lean back and relax after a full day's run. 

But the thoughts fly by and echo through the pines.

And I can't help but think of the hole in Papa's ears

 

I visit Papa every Tuesday afternoon in the home.

His sunken shadow drapes the wall near his chair.

I tell him about my day and what's going on at home.

In his eyes a fog that I just can't seem to get beyond.

 

I think about the words, but it doesn't matter anyway.

All the things I meant to say that were not meant to be.

So I just sit staring at the sunken shadow on the wall.

Cause there's a hole in Papa's ears where all the words go.

 

Walking through the trees, the leaves crunching under foot.

Across a farm of forgotten souls to the spot reserved for he.

I talk to the name and gaze at the dash that created me.

Words of the soul from a man that now better understands.

 

The dash soon forgotten as just a life, to me it is a wish.

A wish for one more day, a wish to share my gratitude.

So I say I love you and goodbye, but only to the breeze.

Cause there's a hole in the ground where all the words go.    

 

Nicholas Campos - March 2024