He went to L.A. on that terrible day,
A few kind words he did so say,
He had won the primary,
And everyone was so happy.
Why did they hate RFK?
For all hope died with him on that day,
And they didn't even give him a say,
For in his own blood they left him lay,
Why couldn't they find another way?
He died because he was a Kennedy,
Like killing them is the only remedy,
To change what's going on in the world,
But they made cry every boy and girl.
In nineteen hundred and sixty-eight,
There came a shooting that made the world wait,
To see if he was going to live or die,
He died without us ever knowing why.
by
Michael Juneau
