Dead Men


 The tragedies heard again and again,

Over the Dead Men’s mournful moans,

For we are the bones of the Dead Men,

But the Dead Men are not their bones.

There are memories heard from time to time,

When the Dead no longer sing,

Their song of songs, as old as rhyme,

It’s a tune with a sad sort of ring.

You may have heard it once or twice,

Tis a quiet little tune,

Softer than soft and to be precise,

It makes the Dead Men Swoon

The cries of the Dead Men are no longer heard,

For wherever their bones may lie,

Their bodies may always belong to the earth,

But their souls shall belong to the sky.

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