Silence surrounds us
As the scent of rotting leaves
And spent incense is removed
Feed the flame
Feed the flame
Exhumed; Preserve us as
We step off this plane
And crippled forms are removed
Feed the flame
Weeping echoes on
O'er these hills
And finds its rest
On the graves we inhabit
White flowers turn to grey
As they grow on our graves
Decomposed, doomed to stay