How Strange A Thing Is Death, Bringing

I Make Bean Stalks, I'm A Builder, Like Yourself.

Listen, Children: Your Father Is Dead. From His Old Coats I'll Make You Little Jackets; I'll Make You Little Trousers From His Old Pants. There'll Be In His Pockets Things He Used To Put There, Keys And Pennies Covered With Tobacco; Dan Shall Have The Pennies To Save In His Bank; Anne Shall Have The Keys To Make A Pretty Noise With. Life Must Go On, Though Good Men Die; Anne, Eat Your Breakfast; Dan, Take Your Medicine; Life Must Go On; I Forget Just Why.

That Which Has Quelled Me, Lives With Me, Accomplice In Catastrophe.

Let Us Not Forget Such Words, And All They Mean, As Hatred, Bitterness, And Rancor Greed, Intolerance, Bigotry; Let Us Renew Our Faith And Pledge To Man, His Right To Be Himself And Free.

Where You Used To Be, There Is A Hole In The World, Which I Find Myself Constantly Walking Around In The Daytime, And Falling In At Night. I Miss You Like Hell.