Oh my Oh my
Why did my tourtise die?
One day she was with us
and now she ain’t.
Her shell was
like chips of paint.
Like an infant she crawled
down the stairs she falled.
A memorial I will make
with my knife I will widdle
The memory will not break
My life will never be the same
I’m the only one to blame.
Brian
| Bernard |
| Still With Us |
| Brian |