Tomorrow they will take you away in a long black hearse.
A somber line of mourners will gather to follow you home to your resting place.
Your reckless life has brought you down to lay forever still.
All that is left is to take you to that lonely hill.
Oh I know, for a time your friends will drink to you, but alas that will end.
Dear Brother, you will remain beneath that hill to wait for eternity to begin.
I will come now and then to lay a flower at your head and recall the times of our youth and smile.
Goodbye dear Brother.
The Road Home
It is a trace where I’ve seen the dawn glowing faintly many times on the horizon, a promise of yet another day.
Where intimate memories linger along the way
It is a trace where Butterfly flowers often gather along a rusty barbwire fence in the month of May.
A winding road, where a light beckons from a window and time to hurry
It is a trace forever familiar, beckoning from where ever you may be.