Beautiful man, with solemn stare.
A ravens envy of coal-black hair.
With eyes that burn, and pierce the veil an entrancing green - hypnotic spell.
A voice like space - dark and deep.
A voice like space - dark and deep.
A stature of Steele - over 7 feet.
His mind was burdened, but his conscious clear.
The summer-lands called him in his 48th year.
A love loss we suffered, a tragedy spent, our hearts were so heavy, but tears would relent.
Our memories live on with Pete at the helm.
Traveling oceans of Gothic realms.
In a Brooklyn garden of mortar and stone.
He sleeps for awhile but isn't alone.
Lovers adore and shadow his grave.
Pumpkins and candles cover his name.
The Ratajczyk crest marks his family plot.
To honor and love you, to not be forgot.
Happy Birthday Peter, you are loved eternally.
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