Gone is he, the father of my father of my sisters and me.

They say he converses with god

But how do you speak with a fictional being?

Excluded was he, I took him for granted,

Now he's gone and my world is no longer enchanted.

A stain upon my life,

Full of such strife that can never be removed.

Tortured was I, as I watched him die.

He was a pillar of strength that was not known to me.

A blight on my soul,

As my life collapses around me.

We buried him in April

And come may, I was in a maelstrom.

His box made of oak we submitted to the earth

we await his awakening,

the day of rapture.