I remember that silver eyed boy.

A trip to the river to do a blast!
A flick of a bic what a death mask.
I was there to do drugs,
I do not know who he was.
When I lay my head down,
I imagine his past

There that boy lay not very wise,
Looking at me with those cold steel silver eyes,
With wonder and surprise,
He did meet his demise.
Portals wide, as he watched his soul fly.

I reached for his pulse,
I felt so much cold.
O how could this boy be so bold!
A syringe in his arm,
All know it will do harm.
I ask myself if any of that was ever told.

In a fetal position, with arms outreached,
He must have known that his life had been beached.
A total amazement,
His face did represent.
Skin so pale it looked as if it had been bleached.

Candle removed from the candleholder,
In addition, its flame blown out by the beholder.
Now his wick smolders,
His body left to molder.
I know that that boy will never get older.

I wonder if his parents ever found out.
Sometimes I feel as if this I could doubt.
He hangs out with a monkey,
Cause that kid was a junkie.
Was there ever streets were this lad had clout?

No one knows who that silver-eyed child was,
I wonder if he wished,
He could have pushed pause.
Just before he died,
He had one hell of a last ride.

Me and the Silver eyed boy was so alike,
You would have thought that
I could have taken that ride.
We all have a part of that life.