What do the bones say?
Do they have regret?
Do they miss the day
They weren't dead yet?

If I speak to some,
Will they make a fuss?
"I hope you don't come-
Be glad you're not us!"

"There's nary a thing
As bad as this - Death.
To life you should cling,
Don't take your last breath!"

"It crawls in our skins
That we are alone,
We still have our sins
Which we can't atone."

But the bones won't speak.
They're just dust and ash.
Their future is bleak.
They've made their last splash.

Their voices unheard.
Their prospects are through.
So don't join their herd,
Or you won't speak too.