Tyler R. Martin
In a shroud of solemn silk,
The dead man lie amongst his ilk
In a cold corral of corpses
All silent, grey and still
In frozen darkness dreary morbid
As worms await to eat their fill.
Never again will they laugh or jest,
They’re locked in rigid, gloomy rest
No smiles as the dead decay,
In the cold corral of corpses,
Now bitter blackness holds it’s sway
In his sad state oh so sordid.
While far away a family weep,
Eating flesh of poppy in bid for sleep,
They miss the man, they mourn his warmth,
Passing their sobs back and forth
As he lie in the coldness now
Of the solemn, silent corpse corral
bourbon, cigarettes and syllables 