What I wouldn't give for a burnt round of toastAnd a cold cup of tea on the sideWhat I wouldn't give for a cardboard bar you mountWith a scribble that you'd written there insideWhat I wouldn't give to stop those bannings handsSaying, tell your dad you love him with a drillOnly reminds me of things I can't fixAnd holes in my life I can't fillHoles in my life I can't fillOne day waiting to hear from you, sonThinking of us on a father's day goneWhat I wouldn't give to tell you twenty timesTo pick those towels up from the bathroom floorWhat I wouldn't give for a burnt round of toastAnd a cold cup of tea on the sideWith a, hey dad can you come and take me homeAnd what I wouldn't give to hear your voice againEven in another screaming fightSilence reminds me of things I regretAnd words set in anger and spiteWhat a Sunday waiting to hear from you, sonThinking of us on Father's Day goneWhat I wouldn't give for a hug you used to giveBefore you grew and learned to pull awayTo kick round a bowl with you, read in the bath to youWipe off the mud from your faceYour little hands used to linger in mineNow all that I hold is a memory of Father's Day's gone*