A graveyards gareden
There is a fence, a wall of peace
It`s bleeding for all the stinging bee`s.
There is a good of all the greats,
they are playing dead when knives are ledd.
There is more coins among the heads,
they are hiding like monsters underneath our beds.
There is a truth wresteling every tounge,
it`s representing all the moves that once went wrong.
There is a fire, too blue to burn,
It`s isolated from all you may concern.
There is a past in all steps made,
It`s bieting thoughts, refusing to fade.