On earth, my father, loved to sing
and strum upon the lyre.
On guitar too; he was self-taught,
he\'d play till he\'d perspire!
But he grew tired, when work did taint
his spirit bright and shining.
Was wearied by this wayward world
of woe and mindless mining.
So, when his bones could bear no more
the darkness that was falling
his soul succumbed to sounds above:
sweet angel choirs were calling!
And so he died, but left for me
a legacy to cherish:
a grief, to last me all my life,
that will not part or perish.
And this does truly comfort me:
his soul has ceased from seething.
He plays guitar on brighter shore,
where beauty he is breathing!