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