"Brother, when you weep for me, remember that it was meant to be.
Lay me down and when you leave, remember I’ll be at your sleeve. In
every dark and choking hall, I’ll be there as you slowly crawl. On every
roof in driving snow, I’ll hold your coat and you will know. In cellars
hot with searing heat, at windows where a gate you meet, in closets where
young children hide, you know I’ll be there at your side.
The house from which I now respond is overstaffed with heroes gone. Men
who answered one last bell, did the job and did it well. As firemen, we
understand that death’s a card dealt in our hand - a card we hope we
never play, but one we hold there anyway. That card is something we
ignore, as we crawl across a weakened floor. For we know that we’re the
only prayer for anyone who might be there. So remember, as you wipe your
tears, the joy I knew throughout the years. As I did the job I loved to
do, I pray that thought will see you through"
