Sweet Phillip, estranged brother o' mine;
what was it that drew you to a life of crime?
A half decade had came and gone-
since you hadn't reeked o' wine.

"My brother, what is wrong?"
I should've asked;
but- you hid so well behind that mask..
You hid those crying eyes-
and that, alone, led to your demise.

And now, sweet brother o' mine,
as I stand over your tomb- I realize:
there is no more time for you, - barely I,
to make new friends
or- amends with ole' ones.

We, two, have been bound to be murdered
since the, very, moment we left the womb.

It looks, as though, they got to you first,
and they left the ground blue.
Surely- it confused them
when they shot through-
your head and didn't see any red.  

What lies ahead?
How can the world be so mean?
An angel has fallen, down, dead-
unto the Muddy Waters
beneath the trees a-green.

The Death of Phillip Crowley in 20-16-
left dew in the eyes of the Faery Queen.
She will miss how his eyes did gleam
She will miss how his mind did dream.
She will miss him- and so will I.
            (sigh)

Good bye, my brother-
may we see one another,
another day..
maybe.