but breathing.

Unwanted, but breathing, in the next room sleeping.
My mother, she's crying, and my father's been drinking.
In a run down apartment where the roof is still leaking.
He's cursing and cursing. It's just the whiskey talking.

And I got lots of memories like this one.
Of empty days and nights spent tired and lonesome.
And when I think back to all of this, it's all too much when you're just a little kid.

My little brother, just a newborn baby.
In the image of my mother, says he's a blessing.
But not to my father. Oh, how he hates him.
An undeserving mistake. He calls him "a burden".

And I got lots of memories like this one.
Of picking sides and picking fights between them.
And when I think back to all of this, it's all too much when you're just a little kid.

And when I wake up in the morning it all feels like a bad dream.
The one that follows you and haunts you in the sleep.

We're broken and beaten from abuse and the cheatin',
the addiction and the lying, and the promise of leaving.
My old man was a bastard, I admired and loved him
And us two kids, we were born into a family, not a fortune.