From my late-night garners of ashy memories,
A voice echoes in every thought,
A chant to look back on an album long closed,
None of it fits in the hymns of praise.
Nine tracks, lengthy tunes of my throes,
And one deluxe, an unreleased song of joy.
Perhaps I should sing to what should have been
And put that image on all the babies I have seen —
All that I have seen, beauteous like he would have been.