Forsaken purity, that which is not, is.
Downcast and gray, ordinary to touch
The smell is sublime; but sometimes too much.
Row after row they lay
Buried deep and in some form of decay
Angels and gargoyles guardians eternal
Surround them now and forever.
Whatever was will always be,
Whatever has been shall be evermore
And there they lay,
For all to weep and pray.
Cold and decrepit;
Six feet down everlasting
Eyes to the heavens