Fred B.

So, here you are my friend so dead and all alone for you it is the end a pile of dust and bone. I had not heard your voice in, going on ten years when you had made your choice we sat, had many beers. It was America the land of milk and honey the need to travel far at home is was not sunny. It rained on all those days and frozen were the nights your ship left in a haze with fading little lights. You sent me a collage of house and car in Maine one near the fuselage of your own aeroplane. You climbed right to the top in corporate USA but knowing when to stop take time to get away was simply not for you the greenback ruled your life one day she found you, blue she screamed, your little wife. Pallbearers were four bankers each slipped a cheque inside appreciative wankers who took you for a ride. They gave you a farewell with twinkles in their eyes as far as I can tell the cheques were super size. The reading was a mess, the barrister agreed the family got less due to that thoughtful deed. They say one cannot take one's riches with cold hands this is a constant ache to rich men in all lands. But you, my childhood buddy you did it all your way you liked your waters muddy and always had your say. No doubt, the moneychangers were told to take the max (well, you were friends, not strangers) and sneak it, without tax so you would be the first to take the lot with you the day that vessel burst and you had turned so blue.