speak beak The moss grows on the north side of the trees and on these Marmoreal memorials down in marble town Standing stones for those who are not standing anymore Grey granite maybe red like my mother's is instead But stone and they are all of them together alone Though whether they are anywhere or not is not known Cool off in the mausoleum hear the organ play No hands or hands unseen between the shadows of stone That heat downstairs that radiates through smoked glass to say Silence unbroken what is better left unspoken Forget about it go outside and look at the trees The moss grows on the north side of the stones and on these Where big fat blue-black ravens flying in from everywhere Attending all the funerals dressed up to get down Speak beak where life is teaching us to care and not to care Marmoreal memorials down in marble town +Steven Curtis Lance Copyright MMXIII