The spirit moves on

He beat the drum slowly as he walked all alone Down the street to nowhere, his voice but a silent tone. A tear falls from his eye, those eyes reflect his gloom, And thoughts are with the one now resting in the tomb. No one had seen him go, nor had they heard the drum; Very few could recall from where he had once come. Still marching to the beat, although now he walks slow, While crowds are dispersing through the soft falling snow. One last time he turned 'round, took one glance at the door; Saw the name carved in stone, knew he'd need that no more. A drum sits at the gate and there it does belong; That was where he placed it as his spirit moved on.