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A SLOW MARCH TO THE BURIAL |
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Black painted hearse idles slowly, |
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Procession follows at a morbid pace, |
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The pallbearers steady in their march, |
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Befitting this most sacred ceremony |
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Ornate brass handles clasped |
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By solemn faced black clad men |
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Shining black casket lid |
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Inlaid in crimson silk |
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In there lies your father, son.... |
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A father to a son and a son to a father |
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Now claimed by the coldest hand of death |
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Faintest scent of fresh cut white rose petal |
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Choked by the musty scent of fresh turned earth |
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Funereal they march....... Funereal they march....... |
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Funereal they march....... Funereal they march ........!!!!!!!!!!!! |
