Stumbling blocks for feet
Does not make it neat
The horror of my journey
Carrying your gurney
Up on my weary shoulder
There is a yellow folder
With a marionette boss
Who approved of your loss.
Time to box up all my grief
Go along with the chief
But the horror eats my heart
Ends every single good start
Wipes the laughing smile
Joy becomes searing bile
It's the end of before
Now there is lack, nothing more.
