The Wake

The Wake

We stood around, four men and I
Dressed in suits of black so solemn
Staring at the deceased body
Of Red...
Of Red.
Of Red!
How could it be our man, our Red?
He who stood once stands no more now
This dead thing could not be our Red
Oh, Red...
Oh, Red.
Oh, Red!
How could you let yourself be dead?
We see your face done in a smile
But we know the smile is not yours
Soon we will put you in the ground
There, this body of yours will rot
But have no care, dear Red, no care
The Lord and Lamb shall make thee fair.