If I die (by some mistake), how much greatness would it take
For my face to make front page, and my city to burn with rage?
Light for me a candle, and hold it while you pray
Kneel there in the darkened pew, for perhaps a tear or two,
And then be on your way.
The day the president was shot, ceaselessly the city fought
To preserve his memory for another century.
Will you light for me a candle? Then with you I can stay
When this for yourself you do (for perhaps a year or two)
Before you’re on your way.
When they buried the president, out the city lights all went
No one went to school or work to watch him go back to the dirt.
Will they even dim the lights for me the day I pass away?
They’ll read my obit in the news (for perhaps a line or two)
And then be on their way.
With the city as my epitaph, how can I fade away?
Yet still you see I do (the president will, too)
And forever we will lay.