the yew in the graveyard

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Magna Graecia

Magna Graecia was the name given by the Romans to the Greek-speaking coastal areas of Southern Italy in the present-day Italian regions of Calabria, Apulia, Basilicata, Campania and Sicily; these regions were extensively populated by Greek settlers starting from the 8th century BC.The settlements in this region, founded initially by their metropoleis (mother cities), eventually evolved into strong Greek city-states (poleis), functioning independently. The settlers brought with them their Hellenic civilization, and developed their own civilisation of the highest level, due to the distance from the motherland and the influence of the indigenous peoples of southern Italy which left a lasting imprint on Italy (such as in the culture of ancient Rome). They also in… more »

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These midnight stars never align
So I screamed at God to, "give me a sign."
He laughed in my face and said, "know your worth,"
Then he started to plant the fruits of the Earth
The fruits that will blossom into beautiful trees,
The trees that will cover me, God help me please
To cover me from all of the hurt and decay
That sicken me most, from harsh words that they say

All around the yew
In the graveyard.
My restful sanctuary and immortal library

In the cold, gloomy graveyard of my sacred heart,
They chant melodies like they're playing with darts
And as they gather and dance throughout the gardens of the yew,
They're piercing my soul, it goes from black unto blue
And then it gets stolen by good Gods deception
As product of the immaculate conception
The flowers they trample over now are calling
To vines from below, from gorges they're sprawling

Underneath the yew
In the graveyard.
My restful sanctuary and immortal library

I feel their vices, feels so rich in prices
Paid to taxation of my island nation
Of which only stands, a few plots of land,
The cemetery, preposterously
And the bridge of suspension which heightens the tension
They saunter across, afraid to get lost
The haze of its valleys, ominous finales
And not even me knows what's

Underneath the yew
In the graveyard.
My restful sanctuary and immortal library

As crows and bad omens frighten their soul,
The bridge to the fog tears as a whole.
From falling they have time to ponder their fate
Perhaps they're regretful of all of their hate
As their bodies hit the grey bedrock of my heart,
Their corpses are burned and their blood used for art
Art of transgressions they've done unto me
As mirrorballs reflect so mercilessly

The yew
The yew
The yew
The yew

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