Please, don’t let the flowers
on my grave wither and die,
because if you do, I know
Mum and Dad will surely cry.

All Saints church stands tall, dignified,
not far from the grave where I lie,
A church filled with soulful people,
but ‘miss you, Mike,’ I hear you sigh.

In mellow eventide or chapel,
I hear the sharp bells ring out.
Once Dad took me into the belfry,
I loved the thrill without a doubt.

But there is a wind so cold,
as it blows across my chest.
I thank God for singing birds;
happy songs I love the best.

I’ll sing a song of sunshine,
my, I love the many seas so blue,
playing on the golden beaches
of the Med, Greece and Malta too.

My life has never ever been easy,
about DMD, there’s much to say.
But I’ve always done my best,
to smile, to…