The Dead

The Dead: and there voices here all around me; Rushing towards death, after a few go bye and what is another. Some mothers son, some fathers daughter the bullet is fast, it leaves all relaxed like death at the spa, while your sphincter does it's last duty better, than I ever could. It drinks as it slaughters and laughs it's laugh, right there where it hurts there between your eyes right below where you breath and up above the last bright yellow sun spot that you saw. So fields of sunflowers happy and mellow I see them all each do I see, when I pass them all as I walk and they fall row after row like wheat on the field come the fall.. There is beauty in all that I see, knowing in my hand Is my why that I held your face and it's mine it was yours. Let it come then quickly and make me no example too die like that on some far away spot a pin pricked dot. Rushing towards death am I with; The Dead.