His child is his
He wants to keep
It isnít up to me to decide
I frown upon the looks of him
But I can see it in his eyes
The love for the child
He cannot hide
I listen as he cries to me
I spend many a Saturday with the child and he
I research how he should have the right
To care for his child and not have to put up this fight
With the lawyer I plan and strategize
At night I am sleepless - because inside I agonize
The court wonít go for it as much as I tried
His child no longer his
I canít bear to see him cry
Heís not capable of doing what is right anymore
How is it that I feel I failed
The day I go to get him - bail him out of jail
For a crime not pleasant and in such contrast to the case
I gave him choices now, but did I do so in haste?
We stand outside the prison cell
He decides what to do - is it best? I cannot tell.
I helped him pack and move away
Not far enough - though
For a friend called me to say heíd been beaten and murdered one day
The next thing that I knew - I was alone
Sitting with a man, picking out a gravestone
In between meeting with the police for their investigation
Nothing made any sense to me - nothing was within reason
Years have passed, still the murder is unsolved
Whose decision is whose - who gets to impose?
Itís too late for that question - the decisions were his...but in part, I blame myself, I know....for the choices I gave him...for the decisions he chose.