My father is a certain kind of man.
A few years ago we were in Greece together. He sat on a bench with another man. And they understood each other.
Their Language was their cigarettes,
Their ears grown large with age,
Their noses red from good times and bad times,
What a life we’ve had
Their hands ingrained with dirt from long ago
My father’s a certain kind of man.
And I sometimes wish I was too
(accompanying music: Mrs McGrath: The Sergeant Said)
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