Tradition

A statue stands in my living room
Six feet tall and a face of gloom
Handed down from father to son
Though the generations, this ugly one

No one's ever questioned
As oft as they've seen
He stands there, because...
Well that's how it's been

A tradition becomes
An eyesore at most
Put him in the fire
Let's have a roast

If there's no purpose
Why do I waste the space
Is there something else
I can put in his place