Wounded Lands: Unmarked Grave

Unmarked Grace

They found him in a ditch
Under an asphyxiated sun
His face was worn by many masks, but fit well on no one
Some said he was famous
He just needed a shave…
Now he’s just another body
In an unmarked grave

Well, they called him a hero
And they gave praise to he
They hung him up like a scarecrow for the rebels to see
Some called him a coward
Some said he was brave...
Just another body
In an unmarked grave

Spring’s stray litters are autumn’s tin soldiers
Got to find a leg up somehow
Cold front’s cutting through these jackets of smoke
So say your prayers if you’ve got ‘em… or have a round if you don’t



The book is closed
The child is clothed
The silence inhales and the town square explodes
You can show me the method
But the madness doesn’t change…
By the number of bodies
In these unmarked graves