Mourning

	Not wear black
	Be it not of the same faith
	Living trials can't be won
	In the end the hands will be held back
	In the eyes September sun
	The magic's gone
	Tempting fate with the surest of hands
	Come to be a profession, to walk with
	You in a mind of many lands
	Has been my sole obsession
	The magic's here
	Always cherish and always hold
	Not in health but in sickness
	And in the realm when all is said and told
	There is no equal likeness
	The magic's gone