I am the bad son,
the hated brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When visitors come.

But I just laugh it off,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,in a month,in a year
I’ll be at the table
When visitors come.

Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen, you,
The black sheep”

They’ll see how beautiful I’ve become
And be ashamed–
I, too, can be a good son,
And a good brother to myself.