over the white stone bridge.
It was a beautiful day for a ride.
One of those glorious mornings in May.
I drove up to the white stone building,
I saw your mother and father outside.
Those dysfunctional people
Now the tears in their eyes,
you were not a part of my life really
I was not a part of your life
and occasional days they would touch
So why should it feel strange?
Nothing much should change
You are not a part of my life
looking just like you did on TV.
an d your eyes were so blue an
There were no patches of skull in your hair
No hollow stare and no skeleton grin
The bones through your skin
But you were not a part of my life, really
So I tell myself this numbness
If we grieved for them all we'd go mad
Best to keep con trol, just a little cold,
You're no longer part of this life,
And we trooped out to the
when the speeches were done
be neath the warm indifferent sun
And I wanted some callous politician,
or some cruel god I could blame.
and they don't seem to care,
still I'm painfully aware,
I drove back over the white stone bridge
I am amazed at how haunted I feel
Seems with this dry -eyed
Like a counterfeit diamond
And somewhere there's a part
Somewhere there's a piece of
I know more will die just like you
And what else can we do but accept?
just to say it feels all wrong
An d a slightly smaller part