My baby's teething in the den,
And I'm to give him what's mine.
He wasn't meant to walk with men
(doctors brought him round again).
In his eyes there is a cure,
To all the troubles in this home.
It'll haunt my every bone,
Force me through the great unknown.
With a different name,
In a different place,
And a different way,
Living different days.
With a rifle to stay,
A rifle to go.
Find a fire to tend,
And a martyr to mend.
Find a body to bend
In a million ways,
'til the thrill of a million
Has faded away.
With the birth of a child
Comes the end of an age,
Like turning a phrase,
That erases a rage.