Some days in the singing forest
The trees whisper to each other
Soon they know they will bear the weight
of an entire town
Certain faces give one lots to hate
Certain voices give one cause to hang
and so they hang

This is not sardine packing
These people look more like deadfall
Amidst the toothbrushes , soap and towels
After the cannisterman have gone
Don't look now (but) here come the trains
A shipment for replenishment, for every 60 days or so
Fresh new labor for real punishment
The past is constant, don't ask why
Life lasts forever when you're dead inside
And the breathless roar of the burning dead
Fills your ears, haunts your head

Broken, but forever young
We'll die forever in photographs
their nooses stilled our praying tongues
and now our ashes are our cenotaphs
How vast is this martyrium?
How much bigger will tombs become?
Where we go, may you follow