Where Was His Helmet

Into the midnight cold he rides; a chance travel, on the wild side; this is the vision, that always repeats, whenever I think about that curvy Rockford Street. Alone he travels on his way home, until a mystery sends him flying into the air, and has him crashing into the ground far from the road. Where was his helmet? O’ where was his helmet? In pain he lays all alone, until two-friends rush to his aid, and frantically made emergency calls from his phone; paramedics arrive and relieve his friends, as his journey into the unknown slowly begins. Where was his helmet? O’ where was his helmet? Now in a hospital lying on a bed, with nothing but sheer pain streaking through his head, mom rushes into the hospital with one of her sons by her side, the other son was in Iraq unaware awaiting R&R and waiting on his airplane ride; a devastated mother and a saddened brother both watched as the youngest sighed, eyes watery with tears as they watched him slip into the cold night. Where was his helmet? O’ where was his helmet? I received the terrible news while I was in Ballad waiting for a good plane, instead I was rushed to an awful flight and my heart felt immense pain; I begged and I pleaded with God, Please O’ please let this plane crash and let everyone but me live, I love my youngest brother take me O’ Lord, take me instead; he is too young God; he hasn't truly experienced life, my goodness he was only twenty-eight and never had his own family, nope not even a wife; by the time I made it to Rockford it was too late, my youngest brother was forever gone as a chance travel sealed his fate; tears in my eyes the pain still burns deep I must admit, with only one question in my mind; Where was his helmet? O’ where was his helmet?