They were crying dead poetic
As the preacher burned his book
And freed all of the witches from
The curse of hopeful youth
It never means the same way as
The first time it is done
Yet still I miss the way you'd kiss
And hold me in the sun
They found your notebook safely packed
Into your suitcase tight
But you were nowhere near to be found
And your brothers they searched all night
And when that trade wind howls your name
That God Fearing Boy will free his soul
With hopes to douse that flame