Even as I write him now he is but a poem in a poem
Oh they taken my Peter Winn farther than he’s ever been
Twas was a home by the sea.
Ti’ll they taken him from me.
Now I cry as sorrow sets and depression creeps.
Oh why take my love, my Peter Winn from me.
Wars the horror of mothers as is wives.
He left me just an empty husk of no one wanted and no one loved.
Tis my heart was twined in eternal melancholy.
To tell tales of love, loss, and utter folly.
But only as I sit here alone do I start to begin.
To contemplate my eternal love for my darling Peter Winn.
Why do my tears burn so much as they creep down my cheek?
My throat like chalk and my sadness slowly chocking me.
And as long as the sun rises near my house by the sea.
I know somehow still Peter Winn is with me.