When it comes to killin your feels are fillin with a feeling that even though you were not willing to be the one killin, your best friend just turned you into a villain, now you’re just millin around at the top of a cliff, you found your friends body layin ice cold and stiff, smells like death but just a whiff, this aint no myth, his back is over with, rock through his stomache his bodies been split.

What do you do?

What do you say?

To all those wondering how he got that way? x2

Well it’s a long, complex and complicated story, if I wrote it down, I think you’d find it boring. We went for some fun we hiked up on a hill, we climbed unascended mountains because it was a thrill. David was the best he taught me all I knew, when I pushed him off that mountain was it just the least that I could do? He showed me all the strata, poetry in hills, how to live my life and how to be fulfilled. But one thing that he forgot, he didn’t prepare me for, when things all went to rot, I would know him no more.

chorus x2

20 years later I sit with pad and pen, we walked up the hill as youths and we should have come down as men. I’ve carved a life for myself free from danger and fear, but still I often wonder what life would be like with him here. Would I live with greater boldness in a world of action more than words? and is he happier now? is his soul as light as the birds? I don’t know what to say, and I don’t know what to do, and so I wrote this poem, David

in honour of you.