O Mitch! My Mitch!

O Mitch! My Mitch!

O Mitch! my Mitch! Your impossible job is done, you sang to many hearts,

Their lives are saved, Heaven is near, choirs to hear, angels praising your return.

Never so thankful are the fans, never so heartbroken are the fans; But O sing! Sing! Sing!

O sweet symphony of sound, Where you lie in the clouds above, watching over us all

O Mitch! My Mitch! Come back to us; Sing again- you left behind a legacy- for you we will all press forward.

For you a concert in your honour- for you the greatest mourn the loss of an inspiration

For you they cry, the tears of innocence, no one deserved this bitter farewell

Here Mitch! Dear father!

Your family misses you

It is Kenadee that needs you

You're gone and passed.

My Mitch is silent, no more beautiful words flowing from his lips,

My Mitch does not know who he's saved, nor will he ever,

The touring is done never to resume, the music to never be heard again,

From the beginning to the end you were there;

Sing with the angels, with glory on high!

But we will forever miss thee.

Tis a sad farewell.

But in my heart you will stay.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack,
      the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
      While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart!
      O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
      O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up- for you the flag is flung- for
      you the bugle trills, 
                                  
         For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths- for you the shores
             a-crowding,
          For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
             Here Captain! dear father!
               This arm beneath your head!
                 It is some dream that on the deck,
                   You've fallen cold and dead.

          My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
          My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
          The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
          From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
               Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
                 But I with mournful tread,
                   Walk the deck my Captain lies,
                     Fallen cold and dead.