Sound The Drums
We're born, we live, we love,
Then we die.
In the music,
That all-consuming fire of
Passion and rage, of hope and fear,
Voices are breaking, chests are aching
As the greatest of us leave
In a blaze of alcohol and drug induced
But their manner of leaving means little
Compared to what they represent.
They inspire, both before and after death.
And their friends and the following remain
To sing for them and their souls:
Because they lack Earth voices
To sing for mortals ears again -
We are not worthy of their sound.
And as soon as we're all done,
We'll be on our way to live
And we shall all sing again.