A Slow March to the Burial - Mournful Congregation

Black painted hearse idles slowly

Procession follows at a morbid pace

The pallbearers steady in their march

Befitting this most sacred ceremony

Ornate brass handles clasped

By solemn faced black clad men

Shining black casket lid

Inlaid in crimson silk

In there lies your father, son…

A father to a son and a son to a father

Now claimed by the coldest hand of death

Faintest scent of fresh cut white rose petal

Choked by the musty scent of fresh turned earth

Funereal they march… Funereal they march…

Funereal they march… Funereal they march