`a Fathers Daughter
I started to think we were ok now,
now that we're talking,
now there's no yelling;
I started to think that maybe you don't hate me anymore,
maybe you won't almost break me anymore,
maybe your shouting won't keep me awake anymore.
But then remembered, it's too late.
Ok so you're getting old, you're getting tired, getting bold and grey.
Ok you no longer bully my mother, your presence no longer makes us suffer, but that's just because I'm tougher.