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.