As I lay here in my bed,
I do nothing but wonder,wonder about the dead.
Are they with us every day?
Watching us, helping us for I hear that they may.
Does the dead pass through you when you feel a chill?
Or is it the cold breez? How do you know the dead is real?
I should'nt call it dead! Invisable or cant see,
Cause there is a difference between the dead and someone like me.
I believe the dead is real but can't hear or see or even feel.
The dead to me is someone gone bad,
Who's lost their soul's which they've once had.
I don't think it's the dead who watche's us at play,
They don't care enough to go out of their way.
But there is someone with you, giuding you to do right,
Stand's by your side all through the night.
Dead they are not, for they have a heart,
The world we live in they were once part.
They can feel, touch, move and even see,
And deep in my heart I feel someone with me.
The look of an innocent child and wing's of a white dove,
I believe they were sent from the heaven's above.
Angel's I call them, watching over us all.
Good and even the bad the great and the small.
Your guardian's alway's till the time comes,
When your body is weak and finally it numbths.
But don't be afraid there's nothing to fear,
Because a happier life and your angel are right hear.