By the village edge, where the fences rot, The Undertaker works in a lonely spot. He carves the pine, he hums a tune, Under the pale and ghostly moon. Bright red velvet, a sturdy wooden frame — In this soft cradle, you'll forget your name! He doesn't measure shoulders, he doesn't check your face, He only sees the soul — a hollow, empty space. "Step inside, traveler, rest from the road, The finest bed for your heavy load! I've sewn your sins into the lining deep, In this dark house — no one’s secrets you'll keep!" Bang! The nail goes through the skin... Sleep! The God won't let you in! The Undertaker laughs, closing the lid tight, Burying the spirit in the endless night! They say inside those boxes, a world is hidden wide, Where shadows have a feast and the ghosts reside. You lay in a crack, but find an abyss, In this dark labyrinth, nothing is remiss! He whispers to the wood: "Patience, my son, Tomorrow you’ll wake up... as a different one!" "Can you hear the cedar singing in the cold? It knows your scent, it wants your soul to hold... I don't build cages, I build the gates, To the place where your dead dream waits!"
