Here lie the graves. These graves are the men themselves,
Walking, walking, walking.
They are their own graves,
Clay flesh buries their soulless lives.
Their lives are their tombs,
Lived day after day, time after time,
Movement after movement.
Their lives are their tombs.
Over and Over again.
These people haunt themselves in dreams they have lost.
which turn gray.
The mist which moves between
Their tombstone eyes is their own