The black crows are gathering overhead,
The roses bloom in seasons all their own,
The green hills I once loved, seem distant and dead
This garden will soon be overgrown.
My child was taken by God’s hand,
And I am left to try and understand.
Where is my gentle Andrew?
The doctors said it was heart defect,
But I disagree,
His little heart was perfect,
It was just not his time to be.
Oh will that Sun ever stop judging me?
It wasn’t my fault.
Will the moonlight ever be kind to me?
Or will I be the target for another insult?
Tonight I will not do the dishes,
Tonight I will not grant your wishes,
Tonight I will raise the glass of hemlock to my lip,
And I pray to God to give me the courage to sip.