William Chaplar (August 18,1961 / Trenton, New Jersey)

The nights I'd come home late and drunk and quietly sneak in,
my clothes reeking of barroom smoke; my breath the stench of gin.
And when you'd wake to tend the kids, I'd like as not be gone.
If that's not reason for leaving me, then leaving me is wrong.

Words of love weren't easy, so my feelings were never spoken.
I'd recognize your special days with cheaply-purchased tokens.
And when we'd fight, apologies just never came along.
If that's not reason for leaving me, then leaving me is wrong.

All our breaks throughout the years were brought about by me.
Where you'd get saddled with the kids, I was always fancy free.
And when we'd kiss and make up, it would be the same old song.
If that's not reason for leaving me, then leaving me is wrong.

The years have flown so very fast, and we're once again apart.
So often you could have let me go and made a brand new start.
You're on your own now and doing fine; the kids have grown up fast.
And if that's not reason for leaving me, perhaps we were meant to last.