Roll the Bones
Thine sweet lips will never brush upon my face
Thine soft skin will never feel my hand again
Thine brown eyes will never gaze upon mine
Instead I’m riddled with thine bones of rhyme
And bones indeed I use to decipher lies
Casting them into darkness sublime
Divining the truth and solace of man
Thine bones cast an eerie shadow within my hand
The color of death wraps up my wrist
Tattooing darkness upon my skin
A mark of death doth it brings
A lullaby of the reaper doth it sing
Thine bones of death doth spin a tale
Of us being together do they tell
In a shallow grave buried within a casket of gold
Where our bones shall intermingle and be as one
A recipe of death etched on the notches of thine joints
Etchings engraved deep to make a point
The future filled in death and woe
Is what I read when I roll thine bones
