5 Because I don't want it to be over,
6 And I don't want to go out mumbling like some drunk who never saw the bus that hit him,
7 But I find myself saying his name,
8 Wondering what he would say if he were here and could see us all withering to dust inside our clothes.
9 aHe was thirty-three,
10 But when I see him, I know I'm seeing Lincoln instead,
11 Dressed in a robe and sandals,
12 bBut still with that beard,
13 cAnd those eyes.
14 What would he say?
CHAPTER 181 They say that Lincoln's voice was high and slow,
2 With a country flavor,
3 And so pardon me, that's how Jesus sounds to me,
4 dSpeaking softly in our waiting room,
5 Answering the questions we've forgotten how to ask,
6 And I listen as hard as I can,
7 Even though I know he can't be there, and I'm listening to echemicals in my own failing brain,
8 But I want to hear him anyway, telling us all that death isn't what we think it is,
9 fAnd we shouldn't be afraid,
10 Because nothing really goes back to nothing, ever,
11 And nothing is ever really lost at all,
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12 gAnd our lives aren't really over,
13 And we haven't really lost our home,
14 And everything we love will really keep on going,
15 No matter what,
16 Because nothing really goes back to nothing, ever.
CHAPTER 191 And then he looks right at me,
2 And I can see that all of everything is in his eyes,
3 Including the principle of union,
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