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The graveyard seems so empty
as I move amongst the dead
ivy nestles to the rock
above someone's final bed
The words upon the tombstone
burrows deep into my mind
I trace the crippling letters not sure of what I'll find....
The Epitaph is written
in this , our final call
the justice of the sinners
lies embossed on rotting walls
words that lay upon the stone
become the texture of a life
just twenty words to tell a tale, is this the basic price?
I hear the silent echo
coming somewhere deep within
is this my final hour or
the birth of all my sin?
What words would people put here
and raise above my head
to resemble all that I once was
to console me when I'm dead?
What tragedy will bring me here
to have my concluding rest?
will all the ones that stay behind
realise it was a lonley quest
would words that bide here chisselled
into cold and bitter rock
say everything I need to say
but know that I can not?
My Epitaph is nothing
it remains a blank gray slate
I haven't seen the fires of hell,
no chance at heaven's gate
But the words upon my tombstone
are ready for the grail
'tis time to draw the curtain
and hammer the saving nail
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