Dear Mr. Kennedy,

It’s been fifty years since we knew you were dead,

That fateful day when two bullets hit you, the murderer left and fled.

We soon got the killer

He was shot, the scene a thriller,

Jack Ruby thought he was a hero,

But now all the information from Oswald we had totaled at zero.

Mr. Kennedy is dead, what do we do?

Headed to Japan, says the cabinet crew.

The conspiracy theories drag on and on

Though your assassination day has been long foregone

Your death is one mysterious case,

Here in spirit, but physically, not a trace

November 22, 1963, stopped all the fun

The second they flew you away on Air Force One.