Grave Chill

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
We reek of hatred, smell of lust.
We can't recall, and yet we must
betray the memory that we trust,
forget today with quickening thrust.
From bones of steel, to bones of rust.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

The dust is wandering with the wind.
Against the horseman, can't defend.
Roses live short, and yet they send
them to the grave, and we pretend
that we're alive, but life can lend
a day or two, until the end...
until the day, when we become
the dust, just wandering with the wind.