The Wickeds Transient Sleep

Harnessed outside the oxes are waiting
Anxious and restless they're pulling their chains
Sounds of the porous and blackended bones breaking
As men carry out the noisome remains

Stench from the dead is filling the open
As burden so heavy is dragged into the light
Carriage is squeaking and bad words are spoken
Oxes will carry the corpse into the night

A new grave is dug, meant to appease him
Meant to give end to the anguish and pain
Stones weighing down the atrocious and grim
The burial bed of the bloodless, insne

For as long as his son is alive he will sleep
Giving his people the peace that they wanted
But the last son will die, his dried mind will weep
And his frightened environs will always will be haunted