Graveyards are just like gardens,
If a garden is in reverse.
For beneath the tombstone markers and the green grass above,
Graveyard beds hold fester like a glove
There’s an overgrowth of decay where the corpses lie down,
And where bodies flower with maggots and tree root crowns.
They bear scarlet fruit, rot-sweet in death,
And swarm with green where they’ve since lost their breath.
There’s life waiting once one falls from the hearse,
Because graveyards are just like gardens,
If a garden is in reverse.