Death Nesting - Lament For The Graveyard Hands

Midnight settles on the stones I keep, Whisperin’ names carved deep in sleep. I wash away the weather, I scrape away the years, But the marble still remembers every mourner’s tears. Graveyard hands, heavy and worn, Tendin’ the silence where sorrow was born. Stone dust on my fingers, dirt under my nails, Tendin’ the silence where memory fails. I kneel by the headstones, brush in my hand, Tendin’ the silence across this land. Lichen and moss, they cling like despair, I clean ‘em away, though no one’s there. Graveyard hands, heavy and worn, Tendin’ the silence where sorrow was born. Stone dust on my fingers, dirt under my nails, Tendin’ the silence where memory fails. The shovel and broom, my gospel, my cross, I keep the gates open for both grief and loss. Every stone is a hymn, every name is a plea, And the dead find their peace in the labor of me. When the morning breaks, I walk on alone, Past angels of granite, past pillars of stone. No flower remembers, no mourner remains, But I carry their stories in the ache of my veins. Graveyard hands, heavy and worn, Tendin’ the silence where sorrow was born. Stone dust on my fingers, dirt under my nails, Tendin’ the silence where memory fails. Graveyard hands, keep the sleepers clean, Wipin’ down marble where sorrow has been. Caretakers of silence, we labor unseen, Keepin’ the graves the way graves ought to be.