Your problems are a corpse,
bury it.
Your traumas are a dead dog,
bury it.
Your short-comings are radioactive,
in metal vaults , bury them!

Bury them,
bury them
Dig eight feet down,
too far to reach down,

In the unsuspecting dawn,
the earth quakes
All buried zombies arising,
tramping on rotting daisies,
you buried undead things!

At the height of noon,
under the beating sun,
they find their throne
Owe betides you undertaker!
Owe unto you and your progeny!

Had you wielded your sword,
gallantly swung into war,
shed the blood of your oppressors,
cut their heads off like we do snakes,
swear they would have stayed down.

Your problems are a corpse,
bury it!
Your traumas are a dog,
bury it!
Bury it all brother
On the third day they will rise,
the curtain will split in two
The bloodshed won’t be theirs brother,
it will be ours.

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