The wake is Sunday and the funeral is Monday.
It was just a random, routine accident.
She wasn't drunk -
She was just driving to school in the morning.
It was Thursday.
She only looked down for a second.
At first they thought she only had a broken arm.
The wake is Sunday and the funeral is Monday.
She used to sing songs on the school bus
(I loved that bus).
On the first day of kindergarten she taught me the words
To "The Twelve Days of Christmas."
She attracted a whole group of friends - she was always the leader -
And put us together.
Her wake is Sunday and her funeral is on Monday.
In high school our group drifted apart.
(Several had moved.)
I was jealous - she'd abandoned me for more interesting friends.
She had a shiny new life;
An endlessly shiny smile.
Four years later she was the first one
To wish me, "Happy Birthday."
Her birthday was November 22nd.
Sometimes it fell on Thanksgiving.
In a month and a half she'd be eighteen years old.
She got one month of college.
We're all starting to explore a new world for the first time.
A dream is finally in reachable sight.
The wake is Sunday and the funeral is Monday.
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