I am held captive by what I won’t say,
What I won’t remember,
What I won’t accept.
The way out is a pilgrimage;
Back through places I do not want to go.
Through a cemetery of the past
Where the graves are half dug,
The caskets are open
And nothing is laid to rest.
If I take a bouquet of Lillie’s
And pay the past my respects,
Will I spend too much time repenting,
For I am glad they are dead
Frozen in a permanent state of grief
If I stay trapped though,
Will I soon find my life becomes a coffin,
Flanked by all that put me there
And haunted by their untested souls.