Hanging by a thread
My father is not a father
He is just a man
Strange fruit, midnight moons
An iron suit, and fist to match

My father is not a father
He is a man
Solid noons, and high tides
Constant, smooth
As the the rivers run and rise

My father has a fire
A light that is blinding 
A might that confinds him 
and a silence that becomes him

When I tell him
My father is My father 
And he is the only Man