It caqn't be him-
Not the son that I love;
I fall to my knees,
And my gaze turns above-
It's met by the sky,
Now so mocking a hue
Of beautiful, shimmering,
Accursed blue!
It's almost as though
It didn't take him-
What nerve the sky has
To claim innocence!
Yet, I know something is wrong-
I felt it inside-
Something's amiss,
Something the sky cannot hide-
He can't be gone!
I refuse to accept
That something, anything,
Could bring him death!
And yet, I know
That something is wrong-
For I know, he knew
That he wouldn't stay long-
Not after he was wounded,
When a bullet grazed his head,
Making himself wish
That he were dead-
He became so morbid,
Sullen, depressed,
And, watching his friends fall,
Knew he would be next-
But still! He could never
Be taken away,
Not he, the bright child
Who lived for the day-
I refuse to believe!
They can't say his dead!
Not even the sky could take you,
My Manfred . . .