i killed me a ghost and i buried the body, but, for a trophy, i kept the sad head, put it up on a fencepost, christ, it sure looked ungodly, the grotesque reminder of the lot of the dead. there are those who must pass by, i laugh as they try to keep their eyes down, keep em pinned to the ground, i mean, who's got the stomach to face yard art in such bad taste?

it had come up in my house with its boos and its howls, disrupting my sleep, i awoke in a rage. challenged to fight for its right to my life, my knife was unsheathed, we squared off, blade to shade. i'll admit, it fought bravely, but a wee bit too gravely, it was i brought it down, and it made such a sound as it perished all over again, hoping this time could be finally the end.

there are those who may laugh, i know not what at, but oh what it's been when my voice has joined in. my mind was out the window, my heart was rent in twain, every time i heard the wind blow,i heard the sad refrain:

let the dead reign upon us, let their piss fall upone our heads.

i won't let the dead reign.

let the dead bury their own dead.