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Fetching Father

uploaded: Sat, Oct 27, 2018 @ 3:46 AM

by	Radioontheshelf
Featuring	Jeris
length	4:00
Recommends	Recommends (9)

Returning to CCM has been a wonderful carthartic process. I took the conscience decision to only add vocals to the incredible library of sounds CCM holds. I had spent too long in the past agonising about which plugin to use or what snare sound I should sample etc.

Here is a wonderful backing track full of emotion that fitted another tale from the past

My father was not an alcaholic. He would abstain from the booze Monday to Friday. But when 11.00am arrived on a Saturday morning he would leave us dressed in his finest clothes to join his fellow escapees in a local bar. Despite his promises to return soon we knew we would not see him until Sunday evening. Sometimes he would be gone for a week. Where, we never knew. Like a sad ritual my mother would send me to the bar on a Sunday lunchtime to tell him his dinner was ready. She knew he would ignore her but it was her way of keeping in touch. I would return, fatherless, one hand clutching a large bottle of lemonade and the other a shiny sixpence. The sixpence went into her purse and the lemonade down the kitchen sink.

We two would sit in silent pain occasionally glancing
Towards half eaten plates of food another Sunday ruined
My mother tried to hide her tears and ask if I’d like pudding
But I could only share her grief and pray for better dawnings

My father he was near we knew we even knew the building
A bar on golden Stookey St where men would go to reason
There was freedom there it filled the air amongst the wine and wisdom
And every Sunday I would go to bring Father home to mother

But he would never be prepared to go and leave his comrades
He’d always buy me lemonade and give me the same answer
Tell your mother I’ll be home soon and not a minute sooner
And so the message I would give her and she’d tremble in her silence

Sometimes my father would elope with barmaids to their temples
And offer gifts to all their gods before leaving in the morning
He would return we knew he would his tail no longer wagging
Just a sad eyed mongrel ready to recieve my mothers blessing