You May Now Respond

Through the blood red sky you can stare with a potent mix of anger and shame,
and you can wonder what kind of man I've become, and try to shift the blame,
but I'm telling you one last time I don't need you, you never helped me become whole,
and I could give two shits about the fake impact you think you've had on my soul.

In the pale morning light you can squint and seek out the motives driving my hate,
and you can ponder your words to me, guessing what was to be the crap laid upon my slate,
but I swear to God and all below that your advice has been taken worth a grain of salt,
and no matter what else comes out of my mouth, you better know it's not your fault.

With decline in mind, through the blistering heat of all of our last days,
you can count the prayers that you held for me, and question them in so many ways,
but it's fact tried and true that I'll never need you to intervene for my sake,
and I better not see any crocodile tears when they close the casket at my wake.