Dusty cemetery, far, far away
Where sunlight ne’er shines, flowers will not grow
For one hundred years, prostrate I do lay
Perhaps there’s something you’d be wise to know
Your great-grandfather in fit of drunken rage
Shot bullet in my back, ne’er saw his face
News of death hardly merited a page
Yet I was watching from my lonely place
Tonight’s anniversary unjust act
Parched, barren ground my fingers break though
Upon his ancestor revenge will exact
Descendant my friend happens to be you
As eyelids flutter with sweet dreams of life
Through back will enter century old knife
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