What mystery lies beneath the mist enshrouded tombs?

 

The dead die hard,  they are born astride a grave

A stranger’s shadow finds its way across the yard by dead reckoning

He meets a deadend

He is deadbeat meat for worms

That’s a sensible cadaver

There never was such a season for mandrakes.

Shall we linger here until perdition caches up to us?

The Cemetery is a cockpit for comic panic

Sob heavy world, sob heavy.