What makes a man, is it the pride in his hands
Or the courage to know what to hold inside, never show
What makes a kid, is it the stupid things he did
Or the moves made in pride from the moments that were tossed aside
I promised father, I paid my keep
I promised mother, the boy is sound asleep
So eat if you're able, just not at my table
Because this table, this table was built for me
Been a hell of a week, he lost the company he keeps
From the moves made in pride, the sins sought him, they were never mine
He lost his brother, prideful hands took another
With the rough grasp in his voice, unhanded he wrote, I never had a choice
I'm sorry brother, when we're close, we grow weak
I'm sorry sister, take that tongue out of your cheek
I'm sorry father, your off, spring won't weep
I'm sorry mother, you sow what you reap
And this table, this table was meant for me
Yeah, this table was meant for me
Let's adorn the distance, put down that bottle and listen
I've sewn all my sorry's, so we can mend all our stories
So put your horse in the stable, and keep my namesake out of your fable
The cracks in the walls will bleed, I'm in the door and I'm getting cold feet
My scars all etched on that table, don't make me a plate if you're able
I'm not coming home to eat, it's a famine when we feast
And this table, this table belongs to me
And I finally feel set free
Yeah, this table is home to me
And the boy is sound asleep, for me