In times of dark despair,
the thought of a mother,
can get me there:
to the loving arms of parents dear,
the thought of them,
will bring me near.
Arms wrapped close,
to comfort and guide,
to bring to light,
the love brought nigh.
The Fathers job,
with due respect,
is to guide and make,
the rules, he'll set.
He wants us home,
to bring us close,
and know we'll love,
our parents most.
We'll always be,
our parent's children,
and we'll love the family,
we were built in.