Dressed in all black,

a chilly walk to the local cemetery

   Vallies of graves, over ice tipped grass hills

homes of what seem to haunt the public.

   But I don't go to visit a lost one

nor do I go to sink into the dirt

   finally becoming one with nature.

No.

   What I do is walk with my last childhood friend,

admiring the artwork of the chiseled statues

   chuckling at the burban left as a victual

talking to those who had haunted our dreams.

   Finding beauty where people don't think to look.

So we spread our sheet amongst are best friends

because they will never fight back!

   Soon we'll reach the valley of death.

Time to take a break from the living,

   now we're no longer lambs of God.

Few words will be spoken

   our undead music will play

People will stop an stare

   but we have won

for these hours are shameless.