From the Grave Clothing Company

GRAVE THY COMPANION Fiery shadow claw deep the surface of life  Life wrought destructive taste – embraced by a boy destined to slay the man   They all preached oh how he could be – he could be - he could be; fuck them all They see not thy reflection gazing back predatory eyes gleaming Slavering for the throat – ambiguous strain for life we yield Hushed thoughts that scream Relief is isolated Gallop good companion – if thy reach me -  penny these tortured eyes I have but to accompany thy self To the gates of hell we stride forth I march in line trembling detour He screams; I abide the order It is just that; disastrous order Hollowed prints of those before me, embrace the gravel with a silence all could hear The gates call – I lend my ear The movement is breached – we find our eternal sleep Thy grave is my companion – the silence none could hear I’ve lent this demon all future years ~ Submitted...

Isn’t it pretty to think so? Grandpa thinks with his hands folded behind his head Isn’t it pretty to think so? Yes, it truly is – pipe packed with tobacco as smoke rings cloud his head The wrinkles were earned. He does not wish them away or wish them to be They’re simply enclosed within the urn of eternity Yet, isn’t it pretty to think so? Just for awhile and a while will come The body plays it role too die - his soul will rise through the tobacco-scorched sky Before this dawn of truth, thine eyes have pondered much – he sits in awe and wonder of the life to come by his grandchild’s touch. Isn’t it pretty to think so? The porch creeks a beautiful melody as he rocks in his flawless chair – “isn’t it pretty? This music to my ears, what pleasure my calloused torn hands brought to the here , introduced to the now . This farm is my field of harvest. My spirit rich in reward to what it has sown. Isn’t this….” The porch chatters, interrupting his pure thoughts, more musi...