He was a regular guy,
Like me and like you.
His car was black,
And his collar was blue.
When driving a car,
He had a knack,
Of coming from behind,
To the head of the pack.
His trophies were many,
His courage was great.
For the black and white flag,
He seldom was late.
Seven cups had been added,
To the many races he'd won.
Everyone thought,
He had only begun.
Both rivals and friends,
Had great respect,
For the driver that gave racing,
Only his best.
No one was ready,
For the last curve that day,
No one could believe,
That they carried  him away.
Everyone waited for him to speak,
Saying, "It's ok, I'll be racing next week."
We watched and we waited,
To hear from him words.
But when it finally came,
It was another we heard.
Our tears started falling,
As our knees hit the floor.
They said number 3,
Would be racing no more.
But we know God needs,
Great race drivers too,
We know  he is up there,
Still racing,  with You.
music: Go Rest High on the Mountain