[Verse 1]

I wear my apron, I tie it tight,

Chopping mushrooms in the soft sunlight.

The garlic sings as it hits the pan,

A symphony led by a careful hand.

The wine pours fine, a crimson stream,

A feast for kings—or so it seems.

[Chorus]

But when they're all gone, oh, when they're all gone,

The laughter fades, the days feel long.

I keep their pictures, frame by frame,

To remember faces, not just a name.

Oh, when they're all gone, yes, when they're all gone.

[Verse 2]

Little hands tugging at my sleeve,

Bright-eyed questions, they never leave.

"Why does the mushroom look like a tree?"

"Can I have a taste? Save some for me!"

But every month, like a clock’s cruel chime,

Three less voices, one more goodbye.

[Prechorus]

The silence creeps where giggles thrived,

A quiet echo where joy survived.

[Chorus]

But when they're all gone, oh, when they're all gone,

The colors fade, the rhythm’s wrong.

I keep their pictures, lined up neat,

A gallery of ghosts, bittersweet.

Oh, when they're all gone, yes, when they're all gone.

[Bridge]

I see their smiles in every dish,

Each Wellington baked with a secret wish.

For laughter to linger, for time to freeze,

For the children to stay, if you please.