It was never supposed to happen this way

They were to be long gone when their little boy was put in the ground

Yet here they stand, pale faced in a kind of starched grace

And as the people pass they say

‘He’s in a better place’

But they can’t help but think

He’d be better in their arms, laughing,

Then in this deep flightless hole

Where he will never grow up and sing all the songs he could have sung

They want to scream and cry more than anything, just to hold their boy one last time

But instead here they sit

Pale faced with a starched kind of grace

Mourning the loss of hopes and dreams

Thinking how his last days might have seemed

When he was just a boy,

Sent off to fight for his and many other lives

But instead ther he lays,

With all his songs unsung