When my heart aches for your contagious laughter

And the void in my chest is as deep as the sky is tall,

I cast my eyes towards your airy abode

The better place they say you've escaped to.

It is argued that the grass is greener on the other side,

That the sun shines a little brighter,

Yet you're buried here on this barren hill

Under a sky as black as your father's tie

And as dark as the mascara streaked down your mother's cheeks.

​The preacher man lifts his arms to the heavens

Claiming you'll find your home amongst the clouds,

But I can't feel your presence in the sky today

And you were never fond of heights.