My Brother - The Checks

My brother

He won’t be home to father

He sold his dope on the streets of Rome

Now that is where his ashes are blown

Now my mother works in the fields alone

My father, he cried to the moon

I took my brothers book a bound

I put my brothers words to sound

Every word it rang well

In the name of Isabella Estelle

I am alone on the moor

The arrows and bows

Flow free through thy blood

He won’t be home to father

He swung his axe through the fields of Rome

Now that is where his ashes are blown