Traditionally Dead.

 Your fathers demons done chased you down.
I wear yours now father as my crown.

A family tradition to morbid to bear.
To all who hear only horrors they share.

Our family has fallen again and again.
To those who love we should have never been.

How now am I to beat them alone.
I hear their coming. I hear their moan.

My angel dropped me from her grace.
Quickly to death now I do race.

I hope only to break this cycle of loss.
I hope my strength can hold your cross.

R.I.P.  "wicked dickie"