House of Pain

Little past suppertime, I'm still out on the porch step sitting on my

behind. Waiting for you. Wondering if everything is all right. Mama said,

"Come in, boy, don't waste your time." I said,

"I've got time." Well, he'll be here soon. Five years old

and talking to myself, where were you? Where'd you go? Daddy,

can't you tell? I'm not trying to fake it, and I ain't the one

to blame. There's no one home in my house of pain.

I didn't write these pages, and my script's been rearranged.