Father had a burning soul
Go on
Drank himself into a hole with no way out
He wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t a bad man

Father had a burning soul
Go on
He could’ve, should’ve loved ’em all one by one
He wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t a bad man

In his defense, he never asked to be born
He seemed content to see the world with his eyes closed

Now I’ve got a burning soul
What now?
Both ends of my prayer candle are burned out

In my defense, I was raised by a blind man on fire
Who was raised to lip-sync in his church choir
So I’m not a saint and I’m not a singer