Parade Of the Dead
The drums start in the distance,and people stop for only an instant.
Everyone one hurry's along,
blocking out death's song.
Everyone knows its going to come,
And only for the weakened some.
Life for them will come to an end,
and the laws of the world will begin to bend.
People will not remember what was done,
they find witting poems about death is fun.
Then the day will come they are recruited into the parade of the dead,
and they will forget the loving words once said.
Living for death has its good and bad,
but over all the loss is sad.
Kids taking their life,
men holding their broken wife.
It makes you stop and wonder why,
and no one ever seems to cry,
everyone just pushes it aside,
and again we see our society divide.
Not even god hears the torchered cries,
or the deads pleaded only question; "Why."
The living never stop to think,
thinking the blood red is a soft pink.
Broken hearts and broken souls,
buarry their body in six feet deep holes.
Don't look back; don't remember,
tell everyone it happened in late December.
Kids marching in the parade of the dead,
for get the loving words once said,
focusing on all the hate,
and now its all too late.
So why does everyone turn the other cheek?
No one wants to take a peak.
No one stops to think of the murderer,
to the mother of the killers; did it never acre to her?
The dead walk among the earth once a year,
to haunt the ones they used to hold dear.
And no one ever attends,
cause its not real; everyone pretends.
Have you ever attend the parade of the dead?
Do you remember what the haters said?
Do you miss the life you had?
Now is it really all that bad?
For those of you anything like me,
feeling nothing can set you free,
remember what I have said...
and there is always room in the parade of the dead.
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