Goodbye, my friend, how could you leave us?
How could any circumstances bereave us
of the ultimate child,
the last honest smile,
in a world so corrupted and vile?
Some will say these lines
are over the top,
but my mind runs in circles and can't seem to stop.
Something was destroyed
leaving an unfillable void.
Goodbye, my friend, you ethereal one.
Your tragedy shows what this world has become.
Your absence feels wrong,
the magic is gone,
the dream you stood for all along.
These words sound misplaced,
the mind disobeys
the heart's order to mourn a two-dimensional face.
But the sadness is real,
the shattering despair that I feel.
It remains unheard,
every note, every word,
like a prayer to a God.
You'll never receive this desperate monologue.
It's hard to explain and sound rational and sane,
but consider the source of this lament:
No inert religious mind that is willingly blind
and driven by wishful intent.
And it doesn't take a fan, just an open, honest mind
and love of what is innocent and pure
to feel this kind of pain and hang one's head in shame
in the face of what this soul had to endure.
How could any circumstances bereave us
of the ultimate child,
the last honest smile,
in a world so corrupted and vile?
Some will say these lines
are over the top,
but my mind runs in circles and can't seem to stop.
Something was destroyed
leaving an unfillable void.
Goodbye, my friend, you ethereal one.
Your tragedy shows what this world has become.
Your absence feels wrong,
the magic is gone,
the dream you stood for all along.
These words sound misplaced,
the mind disobeys
the heart's order to mourn a two-dimensional face.
But the sadness is real,
the shattering despair that I feel.
It remains unheard,
every note, every word,
like a prayer to a God.
You'll never receive this desperate monologue.
It's hard to explain and sound rational and sane,
but consider the source of this lament:
No inert religious mind that is willingly blind
and driven by wishful intent.
And it doesn't take a fan, just an open, honest mind
and love of what is innocent and pure
to feel this kind of pain and hang one's head in shame
in the face of what this soul had to endure.