He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. But how is he still here? Why do I see him smiling at me At my locker? Why do I hear him laughing With his friends? Why do I feel him hugging me After a long day? He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. But I see him. His face is bright and full of life. Not pale and dead Like whoever is in that casket. But I hear him. His voice is in the air and loud. Not in his throat and silenced Like whoever is in that casket. But I feel him. He’s warm and hard. Not cold and soft Like whoever is in that casket. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. It’s cold here. It’s lonely here. It’s quiet here. It’s sad here. But it wouldn’t be If he was here. But he’s not. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. I’m gone.