Come to the cemetery once again
And read poetry with me.
The only place where we have found
The slightest bit of peace.
The world outside is far too loud
And too terribly unkind.
So sit here on this tombstone with me
And find something we might find.
The crows all sing their shrieking songs
To the dead souls resting here.
And we, their only breathing guests,
We read Whitman and Shakespeare.
The stones we labor are cold and hard
Just like the world outside we see.
So come to the cemetery once again
And read poetry with me.