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Tombstone
 What's the point of living?
 Might as well get busy dying?
 Darkness covers our paths.
 All the days under the sun won’t last.
 The graveyard is inviting.
 There's more empty plots where we lie.
 You can’t escape from judgment.
 No place to hide but stand in line in blood red.
 Tombstone underground or burned alive in a vase.
 Become the dirt with no face.
 No one will remember you.
 Shadows will cover your grave in shaded blue.
 Underneath you will become worm food.
 Green grass will grow in the morning dew.
 No more tears to be shed.
 In a box alone pitch black dead.
 Sometimes the living would want to trade places.
 Make a wish, you could be next laid to rest.
 A hard life above.
 Rejected from the world and unwanted.
 Truly you crave the ending.
 Grab a shovel and start digging.
 The moon casts a reminder of your guilt.
 Take it with you, the blood has over filled.
 Lay facing up decomposing.
 Being in a dark place is very lonely.

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