Beach baby

My baby's teething in the den,
and I'm to give him what's mine.
He wasn't meant to walk with men
(doctors brought him round again).

In his eyes there is a cure,
to all the troubles in this home.
It'll haunt my every bone,
force me through the great unknown.

With a different name,
in a different place,
and a different way,
living different days.

With a rifle to stay,
a rifle to go.
Find a fire to tend,
and a martyr to mend.

Find a body to bend
in a million ways,
'til the thrill of a million
has faded away.

With the birth of a child
comes the end of an age,
like turning a phrase,
that erases a rage.