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My old man died on a Saturday nightI watched as he just stopped breathingAnd though it was awful and painful and sadI was glad that he wasn't aloneIt felt like something he'd just had to go throughAn arduous task he'd been givenAnd it seemed so unfair it was his cross to bearThe sickest and weakest of usWe never spoke much as a father and sonBut we had an understandingAnd I still hear his voice when I open my mouthIn anger, or wisdom, or suchIf I see a similar jacket or hairI think for a moment I've found himBut then I remember, it's not about "where"And I know he's not lost, he is goneI'm just glad that he wasn't alone Aus Songtexte Mania