10.My Brother
My brother
He won't be home to father
He sold his dope on the streets of Rome
Now that is where his ashes are blown
Now my mother works in the fields alone
My father, he cried to the moon
I took my brothers book a bound
I put my brothers words to sound
Every word it rang well
In the name of Isabella Estelle
I am alone on the moor
The arrows and bows
Flow free through thy blood
He won't be home to father
He swung his axe through the fields of Rome
Now that is where his ashes are blown.
| 
