Bury me ten feet deep,
Yet over my grave,
You shall not weep,
For lies there the heart,
You promised to keep,
And so it’s not dead;
But rather in a deep sleep.
Think not the dreary thought,
That it shall never awaken;
Oh, I assure you it still beats,
In the glorious realm,
To which it has been taken.
Someday you shall witness,
My absurd proclamation,
Until then, however,
Bear in soul hope for salvation.
Promise me to waste not a tear,
On absurd ritual and earthly fear,
The sound shall scrape,
Against my ghastly, cold ear;
My vessel may well be empty,
Nonetheless, I still hear.
Consider this a final request,
Come from a lover,
Whose suffered death,
Lay your broken heart to rest,
Like the lamb who presses,
Against its mother’s breast;
Forever, you shall remain blest,
And weariness shall never be,
A burden by which you’re oppressed.