Seventeenth of December

Hand me all your flowers
Lay them down beneath the grave
Shuffle dirt above the sun
Release the misbehaved

The upbeat youth of long lost souls
Unworthy of our time
Sings into the misty clouds
Without the hopes to find

Let the fire embed the troubled son
With diamonds in his skin
Let sleep wash over his creased brow
Let me hide my fear within

Gag and bind the undeserving
Hunt them down and kill
Bring us to the apocalyptic riders
Hand them our last wills

Give me all the deceased flowers
Please, place them on my grave
Shuffle dirt atop my head
I believe I misbehaved