When I am gone what will they remember?
Will they remember it all?
The skeletons I have in the closet?
The bodies I’ve buried in the basement? The stars I’ve shot into the sky?
The birds I’ve taught to fly?
Will they remember the stories I’ve told?
The stupid things I’ve done in my quest to grow old?
The smile on my face as I danced in the rain?
The tears that I shed in moments of pain?
Will they remember the lessons I’ve taught and the battles I‘ve fought?
The wars I have won and that peace left unsung? Will they remember it all?
Or will they remember nothing at all?
