An empty soul,
Standing on the corner,
Broadway and Fifth,
Somewhere,
Who cares where.
We are traveling down,
That thing called life,
Misery loves company,
Romance, love,
A mythical beast,
What and where it is,
No one knows.
Jim died last night,
Grasping at straws,
Holding on to shattered dreams,
Wondering where he went wrong.
Jesus laughed,
Fruit less in the trees,
Little past midnight,
A rainy eve indeed.
We all wept,
For it is the proper thing to do,
When hearing of a death,
But we weep for ourselves,
For they are without loss,
The living are with the pain,
To weep,
To cry,
For which the dead do not do.