Prideful Hands (Live Version)

What makes a man, is it the pride in his hands Or the courage to know what to hold inside, never show What makes a kid, is it the stupid things he did Or the moves made in pride from the moments that were tossed aside I promised father, I paid my keep I promised mother, the boy is sound asleep So eat if you're able, just not at my table Because this table, this table was built for me Been a hell of a week, he lost the company he keeps From the moves made in pride, the sins sought him, they were never mine He lost his brother, prideful hands took another With the rough grasp in his voice, unhanded he wrote, I never had a choice I'm sorry brother, when we're close, we grow weak I'm sorry sister, take that tongue out of your cheek I'm sorry father, your off, spring won't weep I'm sorry mother, you sow what you reap And this table, this table was meant for me Yeah, this table was meant for me Let's adorn the distance, put down that bottle and listen I've sewn all my sorry's, so we can mend all our stories So put your horse in the stable, and keep my namesake out of your fable The cracks in the walls will bleed, I'm in the door and I'm getting cold feet My scars all etched on that table, don't make me a plate if you're able I'm not coming home to eat, it's a famine when we feast And this table, this table belongs to me And I finally feel set free Yeah, this table is home to me And the boy is sound asleep, for me