Death, another waste of plans.
I'm shaking I can't stop my hands.
I'm writing words, but I still lost my voice.
Shoved in the back room with old friends, we had no choice.
I never thought I'd see you here.
I don't have clothes for days like these.
I never thought they'd come to me.
But I'm still here.
It wasn't hell that turned you black.
The ashes did when you got back.
I'm sorry.
The same six at all the shows.
But now that it's a funeral, the room is overflowed.
So good of you to finally show support when the admission's free.
And the congregation shows their gratitude.
I don't have clothes for days like these.
I never thought they'd come to me.
But I'm still here.
It wasn't hell that turned you black.
The ashes did when you got back.
I'm sorry.
Would you have you said "Father" said you'd say?
It's hard to set words straight once you're away.
They made you speak out of your lifeless mouth.
I read words you wrote when you were around.
You'd want to be a tree, strong in the ground.
And you would've said
"Keep looking where your eyes are looking now