Randall Knife

My father had a Randall knife, my mother gave it to him
When he went off to World War II to save us all from ruin

Now if you've ever held a Randall knife, then you know my father well
If a better blade was ever made it was probably forged in hell

My father was a good man, a lawyer by his trade
And only once did I ever see him misuse the blade

Well, it almost took his thumb off when he took it for a tool
The knife was made for darker things, and you could not bend the rules

He let me take it camping once on a Boy Scout jamboree
And I broke a half an inch off, trying to stick it in a tree

Oh, I hid it from him for a while but the knife and he were one
He put it in his bottom drawer without a hard word one

And there it slept, there it stayed for 20 some odd years
Sorta like Excalibur, except waiting for a tear

Well, my father died when I was 40, and I couldn't find a way to cry
Not because I didn't love him, not because he didn't try

I've cried for every lesser thing, whiskey, pain and beauty
And he deserved a better tear, and I was not quite ready

Oh, we took his ashes out to sea and poured 'em off the stern
And threw the roses in the wake of everything we'd learned

When we got back to the house, they asked me what I wanted
Not the lawbooks, not the watch, I need the thing he's haunted

Well, my hand burned for the Randall knife there in the bottom drawer
I found a tear for my father's life, all that it stood for