A place of peace, something of serenity,
Blessed with thoughts of eternity;
The lovely cut grass, people to themselves,
The purity of dreams of pixies and elves.
A place of misery, something of torture,
Cursed with what is new world order;
The disparage of dead grass, and loneliness,
The nightmare of unholiness.
A place of solitude, akin to prayer,
Feeling in your heart you want to be there;
The chirping of the birds, nature at its finest,
And God at His Creation is at His kindest.
A place of suffering, damn near there,
Aching in every molecule, fighting for air;
The sounds are dimming, losing distinction,
And it's time to accept extinction.
A place of hope, that all will live again,
And the masses have absolved their sins;
Ashes to Ashes, and Dust to Dust,
In it's finality it's God we trust.
A place of lichen, all sins come due,
It's nothing more than a haven for mildew;
The meat has soured, grapes withered on the vine,
And the clock runs out, ticking down in time.
