I walk through the wet, the rain plastering hair to my skull,
as I shed memories to sweep away this dark day's dull.
Memories as I played games, observing the grinning face of my little boy,
Shadows sweeping happiness away, dark hands shredding joy.

I walk through the wet, though I still remain dry,
as I think to a sunnier place, and say my goodbyes
to the people I once loved, as now I walk as a ghost,
devoid of the moments that I still miss the most.

I walk through the wet, yet dry in my hand is a picture frame.
As my families souls were reaped, as death lays his dark claim.
I remember the arson's devils work and the life-taking fire,
sending flying souls above to add to His Heavenly choir.

I walk through the wet, reminiscencing momentous moments,
like Kodak commercial pictures, with saddening components.
All of it's forever gone, and by the hands of a single man,
of the simplistic souls that can still sweep joy from this desolate land.

I walk through the wet, mostly dry like I'm crossing through time warps,
as my eyes recall these happy days through the lifeless eyes of a moving corpse.
The burnt-out remains of a house awaits me down the quiet road,
beckoning me to the ash, packed with old memories that my mind also knows.

I walk through the wet, thoughts flitting through my crowded mind,
of smiling children playing and my wife's lovely grin, painfully kind.
I may be six feet under, but I still walk on two feet in this sad place,
where I'm bound to the restless results where my life was lived, along with that laughing face.