Black suits, black dresses, spread out and scattered
Whispers escape their teeth mumble "Jesus"
Soon, he will turn to ashes gray as stone
And we watch him in his slumber she weeps-
Dry tears, they cannot reach down her cheekbones
While we whisper "Amen" the organ plays.
We watch him tightly bound in cold glory
She weeps. Soon, he'll be ashes fine and gray
Blank expressions and routinelike gestures
They shuffle along the stained old carpet
Towered flowers stand tall for the picture
For now he dwells in a lonely garden
They leave, their veins with blood thick and viscous
She weeps and walks with bones that never harden.