Mourning

Not wear blackBe it not of the same faithLiving trials can't be wonIn the end the hands will be held backIn the eyes September sunThe magic's goneTempting fate with the surest of handsCome to be a profession, to walk withYou in a mind of many landsHas been my sole obsessionThe magic's hereAlways cherish and always holdNot in health but in sicknessAnd in the realm when all is said and toldThere is no equal likenessThe magic's gone