In the Matter of Death

I cannot be there when the sun hits;
Hits the spots of your eyes;
I don't want to look down upon the sands of life the die once;
Still born dead six feet under;
One last gasp, when minutes are feeble;
Where we humans don't talk anymore;

Its sad origin the nettled words with long face;
A midnight sparrow dying;
Every now and again;
Memories turn into savage colors and savage wolves;
It never moves through nature;
Pushing and punishing itself into the dirt;
Of the darkest night angels -
this death has left the heart of a friend waiting.


copyrighted 2005