You lie down in bed,
Feeling the presence of the dead,
They moan and groan,
Their fingers as cold as stone
clawing at your bare skin.

They beg for your soul,
As they now have no other after life goal,
They wish to be you,
Able to chew and to put on a new pair of shoes,
Oh so lucky you are to be alive.

They tug at your hair,
and at all the cloths you wear,
They all have grim faces,
Each from different places,
All dead,
At least that is what they said.

They want to live,
Like you and me,
They no longer want to strive,
This endless destiny.

One day they might,
Maybe even as I write,
They may just break free,
and live on for eternity,
In *heaven.