There is a place that I go
In the dead of night
Where bodies sleep from head to toe
But are hidden out of sight
Stones tell their stories
And boxes be their beds
Deep within the quarries
Are where they rest their heads
But listen all, gather 'round
This is the time to be on guard
For no one knows the whereabouts
Of my picnic in the graveyard
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 9:29 PM UTC
There is a place that I go
In the dead of night
Where bodies sleep from head to toe
But are hidden out of sight
Stones tell their stories
And boxes be their beds
Deep within the quarries
Are where they rest their heads
But listen all, gather 'round
This is the time to be on guard
For no one knows the whereabouts
Of my picnic in the graveyard