A man with a pipe, rocking in his chair
Wind blowing leaves, into his hair…
"Oh, I sense a storm, something out of the norm"
The cold air holds a scent of death,
You can taste it with each and every breath…
"Smells like burning worms, makes my stomach churn."
Buzzards in the trees, waiting for a corpse,
The old man watches from the safety of his porch
"Youll all have to wait, for today is not my day."
Behind the man's shack...scattered gravestones,
Colored with dead trees, and protruding bones.
"Well I guess I know why the grass wont grow"
…And down pours the rain...but it’s not the same…
Voices in the backyard, cries and moans
The old man avoids all the things he's known
"Oh, its just the wind...don’t you get unhinged."
The dead creeping up from their crypts
Their digging graves with shovels and picks...
And the dead carried him away…there he'll forever stay.