The
season of the souls
The
deaths seem to go
The
graveyards full
The
heat and smoke
The
papers money
The
food and drinks
On
the display
The
graveyards full
The
biting insects
The
tall grasses
Bending
sometimes
When
the hot wind sneezes
The
cars park
Blocking
traffic flow
Once
a year
Everyone
knows the game
But
the dark angel waits
For
the sinners to forget
Once
it is gone to the dark side
There
is no way to escape
No comments:
Post a Comment