It is a wonder to me-
What ancient souls may have rested here,
With their scarred grey flesh
Deep beneath the ground,
I wonder if their ageing hearts
Would spit and bleed
And ache, with every passing moment,
And now they lie here-
Besides mine weary form-
In the eternal chiming
Of never fading, ever prominent bells
Oh, it must sting their desolate flesh,
The way the haunting, tuneless melody
Twists it's way through the air,
It is never silent here;
These fractured souls lie
In ever-long ringing,
Listen as it mutes the soft whispers,
Like a breeze or breath
Against the skin,
I wonder how their skin once felt;
For it is now so distorted,
So cracked and decaying,
Watch as the hopeless insects
Crawl upon the peeling grey flesh;
Like fabric it hangs,
And tears so threadbare,
I wonder what melodies they once would chant,
Before all that they knew
Was the endless ringing of the bells