I’m sitting in the graveyard;
Wind is blowing faster,
As I gaze on a stone
I’ve yet too master.
To carve with fairytales
Of love and life’s last debt;
Of long lost consequences
And of burnt out cigarettes.
Drop a hat on stone
And let it burn to heaven.
Touch only that which your
Hope won’t leaven.
The stone you left behind
Will never burn so bright,
As the day you chose to bury
Your last act of contrite.
So we lean on graves
And sip of sweeter things
Bourne by the hole of
Countless empty wedding rings.
A mound of flowers later
I hasten up my speed.
Drop your blessed name
And quickly lonely I recede.
