No Rest for the Wicked

Soul laid to rest, why so troubled? Why draw me to this place of silence and where you moan and cry out? Angels, Madonnas, crosses and religious figures stand guard over slumbering residents long ago placed under shovels full of turned earth.

Why do you tarry here, tethered to the grave? What wicked deed hath condemned you to stay put amongst the others who find sleep and sweet release?

Come! I hold no judgement! Come! Upon my mystic black wings we shall find quiet winds as soar high above that grave that held you so.

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