As I sit by your graveside
I think of the things you might have become;
You could have been anything you wanted to be.
An Artist or a writer perhaps, maybe one day a mother,
Now you are an angel looking down on us each day.
Devoted.
I think of the things you might have become;
You could have been anything you wanted to be.
An Artist or a writer perhaps, maybe one day a mother,
Now you are an angel looking down on us each day.
Devoted.