His heart beat to the sound of a distant drum
Marching and beating constantly so it seemed
Rhythmic like the guitar on which you strum
Little did anyone imagine this or could have dreamed.
The music stopped, the blood failed to rush
Relationships with the old heart ceased
The ears could her every kind of hush
And all that was called was the Priest.
Life flashed before the congregation's eyes
It seemed as though he was back for a while
The music drowned everyone's cries
He marched with angels long the golden mile.