Cemetery
In posterus memoria
I'm treading on the bones of someone's past
And hoping that the feeling doesn't last.
But standing 'midst the sepulchers and stones,
With beer in hand and joint on parted lips
(While pressed in mem'ry 'gainst her skirted hips
And feeling now remarkably alone)
I can't help seeing flesh among the bones,
So maybe here I finally have a home.
And hoping that the feeling doesn't last.
But standing 'midst the sepulchers and stones,
With beer in hand and joint on parted lips
(While pressed in mem'ry 'gainst her skirted hips
And feeling now remarkably alone)
I can't help seeing flesh among the bones,
So maybe here I finally have a home.