Prodigal Son

Oh can't you feel the nostalgia, son, I wonder about ya, Modernistocrat Horatio Alger, Clever never hesitating in the baiting, ever waiting For the canticle of manacles abating. Did you ever forget - you had a regret - and what you only guessed at Might still be waiting? When the prodigal son with a caroming shadow of hate comes to land at home, Well, he's a mourning star with a champagne heart at his curtain call, And father never understood the way the work gets done. Don't look at me, no, I ain't one, no prodigal son, Don't look at me, no, I ain't one, no prodigal son. When everybody about - is ready to bout you - about controversial values, Don't you think you better readdress the level of the cowardice rising to drown you? Did you ever connect - or come to reject - or even inspect The dreams that hound you? When the prodigal son with a caroming shadow of hate comes to land at home, Well, he's a mourning star with a champagne heart at his curtain call, And father never understood the way the work gets done. Don't look at me, no, I ain't one, no prodigal son, Don't look at me, no, I ain't one, no prodigal son. When you least expect it, he's going to run Like the blood red path of the western sun, oh yeah. The prodigal son is waiting, waiting for his moment to come. Well, hell no, don't look at me, Can't you see, I ain't one, no prodigal son. Don't look at me, no, I ain't one, no prodigal son.