'farewell to the lost'
hear someone assert
how 'death has a cost
that's counted in hurt'

then offerings tossed
in handfuls of dirt
and crosses when crossed
leave mud on my shirt

but I do not cry
don't bawl and don't rave
no tears to supply
don't have to be brave

that would be a lie
no face I to save
I only stopped by
to spit on your grave.