The Moment
The moment has now come
For us to begin to march forth
Into the dept of what we call hell
We apologize to those that we must leave
"Sorry", we say, "I didn't try hard enough".
They agree, and we March with our heads hung low
As we listen to the very same music that put us there
But your mother blames TV, and your father blames himself
Your oh, so young and naive sister blames the old family dog
Your grandfather will never be the same again, grandma is scared
You blame the world, in which you leave even worse than when you came
They weep at such a horrible funeral, and I sit by and cry along with them
Everyone just wants you to come back, "The good ones die so very young", they say
When all we want you to do is read this poem backwards and climb the steps of truth
