Tag Archives: cemetery

Hanging Gardens of Babylon

It’s the dead of the morning, and I just wish you would come out of

The woodwork, where you’ve been pushing pinecones and daisies

From under my skin. I let the seeds blossom into suffocating weeds,

When you once fervently promised me beautiful flowers and verdant

Foliage like no other kind—but only weak envy thrived within this

Nature, and we both craved the dirt like simpleminded earthworms

Crawling by the railroads just to get trampled on and ran over by

Speeding trains. Perhaps we could finally separate and grovel away

In different directions; maybe I can search for my greener pastures, as

You make your way back to the cemetery fields where you belong,

Wilting and decaying with your apologies in the dead of the night.

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Erbsünde

Facile strokes and dismembered veneration

Severed applause for a predicated generation

Amid disparate provenance lay foreboding whim

Of dissonance and elegance—prays original sin

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Wandering aspirations brought upon the knell

Ornate devilry waltzing on a dormant clandestine hell

Banished to fields precarious as forbidden valleys

Austere as poor man’s blood smeared upon rich tapestries

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From the agitated archangels that dare to implore

Comes resentment refracted and arrogance adored

And heartbeats resonating within a derelict mortuary

Sinners and serpents alike singing for a purgatory

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And when raging disquiet permeates the idyllic tempest

Of naphthalene rivers and lunary souls brought in behest

Cries the sanctuary of heaven—weeping for paradise lost

For Eden is the tempting muse and vestal morality the cost

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Intransigence weeps the treachery, torn with abated melancholy

A disheartening performance acted out in entablateured cemeteries

When masqueraded stagnation blooms from impassioned stones

Original sin reposes triumphant, perennial solitude on a devastated throne.

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i.) roses & bones.

flowers-grunge-pale-photography-Favim.com-3578013

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Primal Fear

I can’t escape myself
So many times I’ve lied
But there’s still rage inside
Somebody get me through this nightmare
I can’t control myself…

~*~

I can’t last, can’t escape

My bloodshot eyes can’t tell

I can’t love, but can hate

Cage the animal in eternal hell

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I tried to let go of the knife

In the past, when it was dark

But the nightmare in my life

Can’t be tamed with a mark

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I can’t last, can’t escape

My bloody hands hang limp

I can sleep but can’t wake

Burn the beast when it sinks

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I have tried to shake off

All the voices in my brain

But the screams and scoffs

Causes an eternal migraine

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I can’t last, can’t escape

All the blood has exited my body

I can’t fake, I can’t take

Bury the creature in the cemetery.

~*~

So what if you can see the darkest side of me?
No one would ever change this animal I have become
And we believe it’s not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal I have become
And we believe it’s not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal…

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Picnics in Cemetery Weather

And your beautiful boy won’t wait for you
Because he’s busy with the stars and the fame
And I don’t know why I breathe
It’s taking too long for me
Can we speed up the process please?
But show me the one I need…

~*~

Vindicated reveries I swallowed down again

Intervals of distorted depictions that harshly glow

Condescending sensations bruise my heart

Tantialising and reminiscent, yet arrogantly so

Obsequious whims that won’t let me speak

Releasing profanities in a dead language, I seek

Valiance and candour, your voice is but a faint pulse

In which I can never fathom how to exist without

Neurotic spills of pain preventing this blood overflow

Colliding your star-laced firmament with my tenebrific doubt

Emollience of your elegance, almost a kaleidoscopic song

Neverminds I attempted to hazard into a remorseful clandestinity

Truculent tantrums terrifying, as cemetery weather rages on

Forever’s not a problem for you, so I’ll wait for you and listen to eternity.

~*~

I need somebody (somebody)
Somebody crazy enough to tell me
“I will love you ’til we..”
I will love you ’til we are buried
Our bodies (our bodies)
Our bodies buried close together
Cemetery weather…

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The Bone Orchard

In the bone orchard of midnight lavender

Branches pale and bleached, devoid of colour

Where the moon is solemn and stars are buried

Under shadows and overhead darkness florid

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In the bone orchard of midnight lavender

Where no fruit bears and life burgeons never

Drowsy breeze pushes skeins of leaves wilted

Fluttering like grotesque wings of a raven threat

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In the bone orchard of midnight lavender

Chill with solitude and still as stagnant water

Black bonfires flicker in garish admonition

As brooding souls wander and moan in perdition

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In the bone orchard of midnight lavender

Where the restless death shall thus repose forever

Droves of vermins under groves of tales entombed

Where the spectres and spirits linger in their gloom.

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[F]undead!

Well I’m a total wreck and almost everyday
Like the firing squad or the mess you made
Well don’t I look pretty walking down the street
In the best damn dress I own?

~*~

I smile and I hand in my defeated resignation

Send all my best wishes to the judge and jury

Cash all my checks for funeral renumeration

Just can’t be buried with debts, now can we?

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So call the ambulance and black metal hearse

The gig’s over now, I spat out all of my curse

With every acerbic word I say, the maggots reverse

But steal the flask from me and keep it in your purse

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‘Cause where’s the sense in going back

When you know it’s nothing but attacks?

Where’s the sense in it? Where? Where?

It’s almost as funny as the black clothes I wear

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Congratulations, you just won a trip for two

Down the cemetery drive, awaiting your tomb

Your throat is parched, blowflies fill your lungs

Hold my cold hand tight darling, we’re gonna have fun

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Oh I love how your navy evening gown looks

Under the moonlight, covered in filth and dirt

And one appellation is all your passion took

Now I take claim and wear your souvenir shirt

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‘Cause where’s the sense in going back

I’m out with the zombies, got my own pack

Where’s the sense in it? Where? Where?

Gouge my eyeballs with a spoon and strum my hair

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If the masses are stupid enough to execute me

I’ll just laugh in their livid faces, and so let it be!

I’ll have the upper hand in this sacrificial tradition

For death is my bitch and dying’s my only emotion

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A last call from paradise ain’t too far away

You reek of cordite hun, so come out and play

We’ll make merry on bitter formaldehyde shots

Limb by limb falling apart, and we continue to rot

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‘Cause where’s the sense in going back

If I’m wanted by every single ugly hack?

Where’s the sense in that? Where? Where?

Demise and misery is meant to be shared

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So kiss me condolences with cheap thrill bouquets

It’s all the same baby, we’ll both decay anyways

Save those saline tears, ain’t you a ray of sunshine

Why grieve my loss when I’m feeling damn fine?

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Fire my 21-gun salute, this is my ultimate goodbye

No more existing in this world just to suffer and lie

You will be the one to stab down the lethal injection

Just turn up the voltage in this rusty chair electrocution

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Where’s the sense anyways in trying to go back?

If I’m burning in hell, then I’m on the right track

Where’s the sense in that? Tell me, fucking where?

I mean, I’d be busy pissing my pants, but I’m too dead to care!

~*~

Some might say we are made
From the sharpest things you’d say
We are young and we don’t care
Your dreams and your hopeless hair
We never wanted it to be this ways
For all our lives; do you care…?

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Democracy For The Dead

“The graveyard is not normally a democracy, and yet death is the great democracy, and each of the dead had a voice, and an opinion…and they were each determined to be heard, that night.” ~The Graveyard Book; Neil Gaiman

~*~

A whisper lost in chasmic shadows, seemingly hallucinatory sound of a slither

So let the strangers talk loudly and blither, let their rusty voices echo and shiver

Roaming souls naked, stark, transparent, inert bodies ever decaying and withered

In a place meant for utmost silence and misery, yet it buzzes clear with deathly hithers

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The resting and the restless all have their personal stories to purvey and entail

But unfortunately, dead rotten men and dry dusty bones can’t possibly tell no tales

Their unheard opinions, smoke from their mouth, are transformed into wispy grey fog

That haunts the cemetery, rolling, choking, tendrils, the cleanest air it clogs

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The sick and the diseased, the victims and the murdered, the horridly executed in hate

The innocent hearts alongside the thieving rats, all are equal and have one final date

They all pray for democracy for the dead, to let their sussurus voices do some justice

Listen very closely in the dead of the coldest dislimned night, and one just might hear them speak.

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