Wake up Bob, I wrote you a song,
You're not dead yet,
Anyways You Wish you were,
You've seen a lot of things in this life,
Oh well Rest in peace,
Or at Least add yourself to the crowd in the dark,
Somewhere where the wind blows free and it's empty to sing.
I don't want to delay you on something,
And this new, strnage world,
In which We're here, standing,
We've seen a world of humans,
Standing, aiming high to the vast sky,
Where God lays.
Hey, Bob I wrote you a song,
I don't know how to even call it,
It really looks like my time had dissapointed you,
I saw you there,
And I thought I'd like it, but I was wrong.
I don't know how to even call this,
Verses?
Poem?
Maybe search a name another time,
Remember me that I was singing Blowin' in the wind a second ago,
Now I'm reciting this verses for you,
Saddly, I gotta go now,
Well, I'd describe your personality,
The finality of the song,
I just don't got any ideas,
Just writing,
Is the world of the artist,
Or maybe is just prison decorated with golden trophys and people who believe that sing well.
Hey Bob, I wrote this verses,
Sadly I have to end this song in a few seconds more,
My producer just lets record me 3 minutes,
Anyways, Maybe someday we'll meet at my door,
And maybe follow your lead?
I wonder if i could
Anyways i gotta go,
I said that a few times before,
Hope you don't die before I meet you,
Anyone like you will accept meet with someone so naive like I,
But consider it.
