He deftly wields a shovel with hands that have forgotten what it's like to hold the tools of life He only knows what life is like when he digs a hole for holy men who have cheated others into strife who have hurt their children, brothers, and sisters who have made damaged wives So for two weeks, he digs the hole deeper than regulation states for men who were mistakes.
The more time he spends digging The more time the dead spend climbing
And they're always climbing the ranks to be on top. Falling again, bones breaking on impact they just shake it off and start again.
He met one dead man who climbed to the top with a light glowing where his eyes should be. The dead man shuddered, bones rattling a song of all the people he had wronged. He was more bone than skin More ghost than human But he came back with sorrow on dried, discolored lips and the grave digger wondered if he could have redemption