I decided the funerals were for the living
so they could hear the heart that stopped beating
the tongue which would never utter again
a single word from its lip ever again.
Funerals were a custom of a fashionable goodbye
a chance, a hope that maybe the dead will hear us cry
to know they are loved, that they shall be missed
as they are lowered down, gently kissed.
As tears roll by, and the sun goes down
one more soul goes where it came from
and many more hearts broken as the pain wave flows
as the mourning bell blows.
Scripts Of My Heart 