It was Max's funeral yesterday. The genetic defect, which had been strangling him since birth, finally got the better of him on Tuesday. He was twenty. His sister, Anna, had suffered the same fate nearly three years previously.
Once again, I was asked to sing at the funeral. I did it gladly, it was the only thing I was ever able do for him. I knew how to do it this time. I stared at the wall and allowed myself to catch nobody's eye.
My family was all there, my girlfriend and my two beautiful, healthy children, whom I appreciate just that little bit more now. Max was my sister's nephew. I could not offer much to Max's family other than hugs and my song. The pain was all theirs and I would have done anything I could have to make it less for them. Anyone would. Two healthy brothers do not have the birth defect and they were grieving with their parents. Utz, the father, thanked me afterwards and asked me to sing the same song at his funeral – which I take as a very moving honour (even though I may well be gone myself by then. We are the same age).

I drove back home today and there was a package awaiting me. The blues musician Sonny Black had sent me a CD of his excellent blues instrumentals and another, older recording of four songs he had recorded in the seventies. I had not heard "Bless These Children" for over twenty five years and I can't quite describe the effect it had on me.
For me good songs are above all about connecting. There is no way that I can convey the messmeric quality of Sonny's voice and guitar, but I can at least post the words. I hope he does not mind, but I can't keep this just for myself.

Bless These Children (by Bill Boazman)

I've been living with the Devil day to day
He can steal your pride and then he'll just throw it away
Saints and sinners – we all have to pay
Bless these children

Bless the artist whose lines are so fine
Whose delicate touch can open our eyes
And capture a moment that's captured and rescued from time
Bless these children

Bless the writers whose page comes alive
Whose detail is telling and whose reasons are right
The sword gets heavier but the pen's gonna stay light
Bless these children

I'm just looking out of my window and away down the road
I see too many people carrying their own heavy a load
Don't look to no singer tell you what's in your soul
That's for you to discover
Take care of one another

Bless all the mothers whose sons went to war
For in those mothers all our freedom was born
They gave up their time would you give up yours?
Bless these children


Bless the voice that shouts out alone
While others stand laughing and so afraid of their own
Times have been changed by just one rolling stone
Bless these children

I've been living with the Devil day to day
He can steal your pride and then he'll just throw it away
Saints and sinners – we all have to pay