Good Rich, Good Year

It's hard to argue with old sick parents; an innoculous arguement based on car tires.

I've cried the pillow soggy
On both sides of my head
I hate what I'm thinking
'Bout better off dead.

I depend for too much.
Guess I always have.
Know no other way to be
But you've made me so mad.

It is me being headstrong?
Is it you being dead wrong?
Or me somewhere
Dead, waiting for the debate
to die?
Or one of us.

We've never agrued well.
I'm trying to quell
Out of respect for your age.
But if you're wrong
And I'm dead,
Was respect worth it?

So if I'm wrong
And you're dead,
What am I worth?
Respect anywhere?
They never say, "Dead right."

Like when an apology ends
Something is lost.
So I cry my pillow soggy.
No sleep, just weep
And toss, wonder loss.