I haven’t seen my friend Anne in a while.
My parents say sad things that don’t make sense,
“Her dad will never walk her down the aisle,”
And now they talk about her in past tense.
We dress in black and all get in the car,
It coughs to life and then we’re on our way,
My father says that we won’t go too far,
Somehow I feel that this is a sad day.
We pull up to a scary looking place,
Her parents are in front both wearing black,
Has Anne been lost? I hope that’s not the case.
We walk in together, no turning back.
In the big building she lays in a dome.
They call it a coffin, her brand new home.
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