When we were younger we'd play in the storms

handprints on clothes and shoelaces torn.

We'd straggle in with our hair a wreck

...those were the best days of our lives.


In early morning I hear the phone ring

scuffling but beat by the answering machine –

and the words reverberate in my head

stock still, with a heart of hard lead.


All they can say is "it wasn't an accident."

The words seem to thunder and roar –

I can't seem to make sense of life anymore.


Now you've left I can't stop to wonder

why you never talked about the end

of this story, as I fight not to go under

and follow you, my dearest friend.

I'll never see your smile again.


For now I'll spend my days dancing in storms

with mud on my clothes and shoelaces torn.

I'll keep playing for you, my friend

until the day I can see you again.