At your house, before the funeral,
I saw a picture of you.
I couldn’t help but cry.
It was kind of funny really....
you were drunk, had a bottle in your hand
and was having one hell of a time.
We left your house to see you off.
“Free Bird” still echoes in my ears
today, almost a week later.
I stayed for the entire funeral,
I even watched them so uncaringly
place your air-tight crypt into the cold ground.
They threw dirt over you like you had never
been anything more than a cold corpse
That’s what hurts the most.
Not that you have died and gone;
hearts always move on.
I’ll miss you, and the worst thing is knowing
that some people never knew you.
Tout s'en va, tout passe, l'eau coule, et le couer oublie.