Gypsy died on a date unknown.
We found her surrounded by moldy food, in her apartment, alone.

My grandmother who prayed for Jesus to be in my heart,
Lay lifeless on the couch,
falling apart.

Dad was in rehab and we gave him a call
Sitting In the hallway up against the wall.

He answered and said, "I'm doing so good! Never been better, like I knew I would!"

The news of his mothers death, with him being so far away,
Caused him to drop the phone and start screaming in pain.
"Oh god, no this can't be true"
He wasn't even there to pay his dues.

I Flipped through Polaroids she kept in a box,
Surrounded by people, all worried and lost.

Gypsy and I would play in the backyard,
She had red hair and a golden heart.

We filled endless bags with her crosses and bibles,
All smoking cigarettes and talking for a while.

They took her away in a hearse,
As I rummaged through all the junk in her purse,
Letters and donations to be sent out to churches,
all left without stamps, empty and worthless.

I called her gypsy because she was as free as the wind,
The crazy make-up lady who would laugh to no end.

Nobody wanted answers as to why she died,
She was laid to rest on Christmas Eve, the closest to Jesus she'd ever been in her life.

I hope now gypsy is finally alright.