The Randall Knife (Live)

My father had a Randall knife
 My mother gave it to him
 When he went off to World War Two
 To save us all from ruin
 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
 Only once did I ever see
 Him misuse the blade
 Well, it almost cut his thumb off
 When he took it for a tool
 Well, the knife was made for darker things
 And you could not bend the rules
 Well, 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
 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
 There it slept and there it stayed
 For twenty somethin' odd years
 Sort of like Excalibur
 Except waiting for a tear
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 My father died when I was forty
 And I couldn't find a way to cry
 Not because I didn't love him
 Not because he didn't try
 I'd cried for every lesser thing
 Whiskey, pain and beauty
 But he deserved a better tear
 And I was not quite ready
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 So we took his ashes out to sea
 And poured 'em off the stern
 And then threw the roses in the wake
 Of everything we'd learned
 And when we got back to the house
 They asked me what I wanted
 Not the lawbooks, not the watch
 I need the things he's haunted
 My hand burned for the Randall knife
 There in the bottom drawer
 And I found a tear for my father's life
 And all that it stood for