Thinking Lincoln

How a little ball of molted lead has changed our nations history and why they shot him in his head became a shrouded mystery Theories popped up everywhere no suspects were exposed and every answer that was spoke more questions they arose Thirteen score, no less no more since the last tear hit the ground and through the years of hopes and fears the truth was never found I sometimes think, that's it's a plan That the good ones must die young and while we grieve, we must believe they go because they're done It is Now, up to us to carry out His goal even though, why He was killed The world will never know