Talk In The Air

A graveyard is dangerous— If you go in, whispers may reach your ears Of things that have happened Before, to the dead and their mourners Every time you enter, the sleepers will waken Hoping you've come for them Farmers and bankers, Widows and children Lie arrested in time. Are you come to visit me? Am I missed? Am I forgotten? They seem to say The graveyard is a library of stories Held under its ceiling of soil, its thatch of grass The library is dangerous, It wants to suck you in Ignore its whispers hanging in the air Soon enough you'll be one of the whisperers