---

The prison walls are only getting higher,
reach up for light and gasp for the air.
Your callous soul, a surrogate for spirit,
you have exchanged for a chunk of stale bread.

Day after day the gravestone's growing massive,
pressing you hard and driving underneath.
You've no way out of the cemetery for living souls,
so make yourself at home.

The devastated land, the tomb of your ambitions –
that's what you got, that's what will stay with you.
Look back at your life, then cast one more gaze at all these corpses,
they're more alive than you have ever been.

The living are in graves, but not the dead,
though prison walls have pressed us all together.
The ancient years and months and days – all dwell in this grim cemetery.
The living dead are roaming everywhere,
they're desperately looking for a shelter amidst the bones of those who passed in peace
to hide and mutely fear death.

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