The past is just a graveyard

We didn’t get the message as we crept towards the end of the night.
Our parents and our parents’ parents’ parents told us “keep out of the light”.
Our skin turns black and itches, that’s the symptom we all notice first,
Then our bones begin to crackle and we realise it’s not even the worst part.
Our veins shudder and wobble as our victims’ blood begins to boil away,
The vapour rising out turns into spirits screeching “time for you to pay”.
We turn around look puppy-eyed and wonder why the world cursed us like this.
The sunbathers in the garden lick their ice-creams like they’re just taking the piss.
But I look at you and I don’t feel bad, or sad our mad just glad we had a great time while it lasted we may end up dead and blasted but the sun can’t melt this one this one this memory will burst from me and we’ll circle through their bodies make their skin and hair our hobbies and this torture isn’t all that bad I’m sure. We’ve been through worse before.
Now a summer’s day can’t stop us flying fuelled by our adventure-sense and present-tense regard. The past is just a graveyard.

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