Where do they go to, the people who leave?
Are they around us, in the cool evening breeze?
Do they still hear us, and watch us each day?
I'd like you to think of them with us that way.
Where do they go to, when no longer here?
I think that they stay with us, calming our fear
Loving us always, holding our hands
Walking beside us, on grass or on sand.
Where do they go to, well it's my belief
They watch us and help us to cope with our grief
They comfort and stay with us, through each of our days
Guiding us always through life's mortal maze.