he'll make music beyond the grave.

i have no doubt.

leaves

i might not be coming home this week or next

'cause all the trains have left

and i'm afraid i'm penniless

so hold this letter to your chest

and tell my brothers i'll see them when

flowers die and winter frost

clings gently to the morning ties

that holds the leaves up in old tree

who grows and blinks and falls and dies

and whispers to your fragile eyes

"we're missing someone here today;

i'd like to see him

before i go away."