Flowers on the railway line
in loving memory of a dead child.
And what's the excuse this time?
Who's to blame?
Who can you blame for the pain?
Not physical but worse than anything you have felt before, and probably or hopefully, never will again.
Oh how sorrow can destroy the supposed simplicity of life,
and all of the things that we take for granted.
Oh how grief can cut you like a knife,
and all your prayers can seem to go unanswered.
The truth hurts
and eyes cry,
but burdens in life can be disguised by lies
when questions seem to criticise.
Where were you this time?
It's hard to avoid the horrible realisation,
when weather torn reminders cling hopelessly,
but it's all too easy to point the finger of accusation
in an all of a sudden religion riddled city of morality.
But were where you?
It's not always easy to hide.
Where were you this time?
Where were you when your child died?
The truth hurts
and eyes cry...
but it's still hard to avoid the questions and the facts.
Oh the devestating effect...
Life's suddenly a heart attack
Life's suddenly a train wreck...
Suddenly there's unbearable grief for your child.
He was your life
and now he's no longer by your side you're constantly recalling the time that you were together,
but now he's gone to a place where he can play forever.
And it's hard to avoid the horrible realisation
when weather torn memories cling hopelessly,
but it's all too easy to point the finger of accusation
in a (suddenly) religion riddled city of sympathy. | 
