Lack of Senses

Whence misty eye's are in the shortest of supply on tepid day's Pop the cork on that vintage finest magnum brut champagne you we're saving for a special occasion And raise a toast to everyone and everything you are going to miss Every girl you wished you had kissed and opportunity that went aria for fear to tread And put to bed all solom regret Because the time has come for one and all To call upon said ticking clock at hour half past six And replace the carpets shed and so threadbare And stained roses that are but petal buds laden with despairing apparition On mantle such lacklustre ornaments denoting spring is out of season That no one but the clouds abide to For when the funeral carriage horse's return to hey laden stables And their blinkered eye's once covered up are opened wide Do not a tide of leaves wish to leave in their wake For fear they know and understand the purpose of their daily commuting of their charges Followed by the weeping mourners dressed in blackened amplitude Know they are but one small step behind And more poignant also now one step closer also To seeing their cherished loved one's once again So lest us not come to recall upon this day with dread and sorrow But rather as our parting shot across the bow of earthly death and tears Safe and comfortable in the knowledge This is the beginning not the end