My Father’s Things
Here among my father’s things
With all the sorrow and memories they bring
A photograph that’s not really fair—
Robbed of your voice and commanding air
I can sit in your chair
Like you did a thousand times
The whisky glass over there
Touching it’s like feeling your old hand in mine
All these things that map your life
Where did we fit, kids and wife
Questions better asked in life
Coats that kept you from bad weather
Ancient volumes bound in leather
Did you regret your time with them
And what seemed most important at the end
As I light up your pipe
I think I’ve fooled these dear old walls
They think you’re back to life
A ghost in a smoky pall
And like this stuff I breathe and blow
So too I must let you go
With all the things about you I shall never know
How strange it is
That I should look for clues in here
A kind of archaeology
I hope my kids
Don’t need to search through things like this
To get a clearer sense of me
Here among my father’s things
With all the sorrow and memories they bring
A photograph that’s not really fair—
Robbed of your voice and commanding air
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Music and lyrics: Toby Roberts. Instrumentation: The Telltales. Recording: Steve Shipley, Lemon Studios, 2002. Produced by The Telltales and Steve Shipley. Mastering: William Bowden. All recordings ©2004 Will Belford, Peter Gifford, Mark Roberts, Toby Roberts (The Telltales). All compositions (lyrics & music) ©2000-2004 Toby Roberts. Photo: Dean Dampney.