I've made my way, across a hot scorched prairie;
To this very spot, where I must unbury.
Memories laid to rest, that have been put into the ground;
What I had fought to untangle, I am now once again, bound.
It's rope drawn so tight, it cuts into my skin;
I might loosen it a little, but I will never win.
My burden's shouldered, and this I must carry;
As I enter the cemetery.
The memories come, I can't make them leave;
They are here to make certain, I remember to grieve.
Show's over, curtains drawn, no more acting brave;
As I slowly approach, my little girl's grave.
Now sitting beside her, telling Joy how I feel;
How can I describe it? It's feeling surreal.
Then I give her my chip, and tell her I'm trying;
I tell her everything’s great! But she knows that I'm lying.
So I cry for awhile, the father bereaved:
Then climb to my feet and get ready to leave