His younger brother died Some time ago So he sat and cried Eating his happy meal Ironically Sitting on the fourth church pew We sang hymns He prayed curses To a God that didn't seem to hear Or a mother that wore too much make-up A father that beat him every day Wise eyes Written on his face At such a young age Now As I stroll the grounds Feeling you six and a half feet beneath I learned what you knew All along How can you not pity his place? Should have known For fear of the footsteps At bedtime