Funeral procession moving slow through the undergrowth
Pick my casket up to shoulder height. Bow your heads low
Clutch your black skirt as the wind blows, howling through the stones
Cover me with leaves, make us a home, before winter steals my bones
Crush a flower with your heavy boot. Trample it under foot
Lungs of chimneys explode with smoke, bathing us all in soot
Have you seen the Mourning Cloak laying there by the roots?
Hiding from the cold, never awoke, until it found you
Sing the songs of days long ago
Sing the familiar hymns
Sing of your woes
