That graceful gravedigger
Is still watching the flock
Oh, the irony feels cold tonight
He stands out like a mausoleum
With his headstone face and a rusty shovel
A goofy grin and a broken lantern
He's made friends with many worms
In his little garden here
This is his church
Where he gives offerings to the Earth
He lives for this
Like he knows something I don't.

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