I broke down and wept yesterday,
at the sight of my grandparents grave.
Clutched dead grass in my trembling hands,
ripped it from the haunted lands.

Every year, it comes and goes,
the days I hoped would never come.
They say it gets easier with time,
though each year, it's another mountain to climb.

But sometimes,
you realize,
it can't get much worse.

Sometimes,
you realize,
it doesn't always hurt.

I leave just like I always do,
struggling to bid them both adieu.
Rolling through the ghostly fields,
I wonder if it's all even real.

Another punch right in the gut,
leaves me fighting to get out of this rut.
Much like every day of my life,
filled with so much anger and strife.

But sometimes,
you realize,
it can't get much worse.

Sometimes,
you realize,
it doesn't always hurt.

And sometimes,
you realize,
it can't get anymore dead in a graveyard,
no matter how many black clouds roll by.
It can't get anymore dead in a graveyard,
no matter how many showers pour down.

It can't get anymore dead in a graveyard.

It can't get anymore dead in a graveyard.

It can't get anymore dead in a graveyard,
no matter how many people die.