Without a thought, the funeral had passed. My tears still carving trails upon my cheeks, I spent the days in grief both real and played. No answers needed then to be exposed. But with the rising cadence of the moon, Dried eyes and cheeks would venture for the truth. Investigating murkins for the truth, No stone I left unturned, nor doorway passed. I poured over his journals by the moon, Until the rosy life had left my cheeks. And with all of his secrets now exposed, I felt, for sure, my father had been played. For want of charity he had been played. I am my father's daughter now, in truth: We both were born to hold the world, exposed Under our sight until trouble had passed. His noted thoughts seemed like they brushed my cheeks, As I absorbed them with each passing moon. I polished off my beers under the moon, Tracing the steps my father'd said he played. The broken bat, a pub, painted my cheeks, Flushed red as I waited to see the truth. And in she walked: a woman strutting passed me in the night. I'd leave her there, exposed. She recognized me, once she'd been exposed: I had his eyes, which shone bright in the moon. Unfortunately she had never passed my father in the duel of minds they'd played. He'd left her once he'd re alized the truth, Her love abandoned with her tear-stained cheeks. I gave her time to softly wipe her cheeks, Her unrequited love flared now, exposed. But then her voice rose up, and spoke the truth: He'd left her by the light of the full moon, For someone else who knew how it was played, And he lived in this town before he'd passed. And now, my rosy cheeks lit by the moon, The truth exposed, his noted steps I'd played... But still the truth rests with this man, who'd passed.