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Oh! My father; You are a mound of a town, You made unsound to sound, Drowned to most renowned. I hound man like you around; But the town was lack of abound.
Your gift and trip wasn't cheap, But why you flip your belief. It was grief when you leave, As you are the chief of our beliefs.
The day when you vanished away, my way was filled with turbid clay. It is tragic to say you are away, I wept when you lay near the bay.
I'm stuck when you leave the ruck; Then I mucked still I was truck I ducked then I waited for luck, Sorrows tuck, glees were plucked.
