I came back to Glasgow when my Dad was unwell
His cancer was killing him so I got him home
In they days the doc dished out a bottle of morphine
Me and my sister never left him alone.
We’d watch John Wayne movies and he’d always cry
Emotions all mixed up and attacking his mind
My Father was riddled with fear and with cancer
A better way to go would have been kind.
And so to the movies we watched near them all
My Dad was a Desert Rat and he now cried at war
At romance, at fighting at whatever it was
I sit back and wonder what did he fight for.