That’s the bed where he used to lay
when the sun set on his pillow
That’s the song that won’t go away
where music wept like a willow
That’s the dream that we used to share
as the moon danced through the window
That’s the night that never ended
the waning that made a widow.
That’s the blanket we used to warm
against the winter’s icy chill
That’s the torn quilt of fam’ly guilt
that left our beliefs unfulfilled
That’s the place where we used to be
where our dreams became fragile histories
That’s the place where I mourn him still
forfeited by death’s tragic mysteries