I was at the funeral of my past,
When I saw the book that would make you last
In the memories of all who came to see,
That the death of you could really be.
In the torn, worn pages of loss,
Were the signatures from those who could toss
Their emotions out with a name,
At least I know they came.
This book I know is for angels, for you
Alone can read this through
Without feeling a drop of tears,
You finally will have no fears.
This Angel book will save you,
Perhaps it can save us too
As we remember how you looked,
Or maybe how you once, with your words, cooked.
These slightly yellowed pages of dust,
They will ease our pain, they must--
The darkness of the binding is final,
And Heaven prepares for your arrival.
The Angels will smile at you as you read,
This is our last gift as you are freed;
The Angel book is all you need
In the place that you're going, where there is no greed.