Papa died today
But it might have been a decade
Can't be sure, I might be late
The telegram that came today was an April Save-The-Date
And I think at least 4 nights a week I speak in my sleep
When I awake, my dreams, they were all November 8s
Eight, eight, my father
Eight, eight, my mother
Eight, eight, my number
Eight, eight, eight
Betty tried her best
But she didn't sign up for this
This existential crisis
Rollin' round the head of a widow's middle kid
And he thinks he's cursed
The whole universe is cruel and absurd
And it weighs the same as flat circles and figure eights
Eight, eight, my father
Eight, eight, my mother
Eight, eight, my number
Eight, eight, eight
I met jealous on a Thursday
Thought you took my place
They met cautious on a Sunday
When that church burnt your face
If I could have it my way
I'd go back learn to celebrate
Your brilliance every day since July 21 in 88
Eight, eight, my brother
Eight, eight, my father
Eight, eight, my lover
678 my number