(mournful ohs)
There’s a graveyard where no graveyard used to be
There’s a graveyard made of grass and memories
Over ground that’s overgrown, the grass, the skin, the blood, the bone
That’s (are) buried here in scores
The never-ending sores

There’s a braveheart where the graveyard used to be
Fighting an imaginary cavalry
All the dead in this dimension wield a weapon of retention
Hidden from him now
Until they will allow (oh)

There’s something reminiscent of a grey and weathered china cup
I’m sure that’s just for me
The things that I can see
Where graveyards used to be