There's a place I know,
Not far, not close.
Where bones are trophies
Lives are waste, and forgotten.

Beneath the surface, where red and white skies meet
Lies a realm of differential fate.

In this place, skeletons dance to beauty, as flesh decays to soil.

At night, the bones beat.
Kids gather 'round the full moon,
Chanting to the goddess of bone and flesh.

By afternoon, dry bones sing,
Parables of revenge.
Only those with ears can hear.

In the morning, wet bones sleep,
Heavy with sorrows.

Old people are prized and celebrated,
For one day they'll join their ancestors,
With cracked teeth.

Death is honoured,
A young death is more befitting
Than a living old man.

At midnight, all is lost,
As each bone knocks on loved ones' doors.

"Ko!! Ko!! Ko!!!"

The old man, toothless, said to his daughters, "Bones of my sons are calling me, I have to honour."