Riding out this storm tonight, I’m reminded of that fateful night, When thunder rocked the southern sky And good, kind Richard had to die. Near La Jolla upon the hill, The Church of Christ stood very still. Moroni guarding proud and tall, struck fierce by lightening, he did not fall.
The wild winds made halo rings as heaven’s angels rose to sing. Blue-green stars shot from the sky. It was the eve sweet Richard died.
Messengers from outer space out did each other for first place. Rubies, roses, diamond rings, From parted clouds Gods rushed to bring. Sapphires, pearls, his treasured wings, Were placed among sweet Richard’s things.
Joyous sounds filled all the world fot Richard’s newly christened wings. Muses pushed to rush the stage with poetry from another age; haunting, startling, subtle rage; lyric beauty on the page.
Sometimes it feels feels like such a waste when G-d took home our Prince of Grace. Why him? Why now? Why such brutal haste? A good bye kiss is tough to face. It was the eve He took home our Prince of Grace.