Dead.
Buried.
Never forgotten.
The last of us to feel.
All the negative intentions we possess.
Forever haunted by bottled emotions.
Swam beneath the grass top.
Deep inside the brown soil.
No more clean souls.
Surely no spirits.
The sad sound of the shovler is back.
There's a party in the realm tonight.
A new one to chase home the sad men.
He's probably brought flowers.
So many things that go,
The Grave digger can never know.
Breathe.
Alive.
Never the smell of real mould and worms.
Breathe.
Not when the shove hits you head.
The Grave Digger will never know what really hit him.
That's just cause...He's dead.
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