once i dug a hole
inside i found a man
his skin was made of plaster
his eyes were filled with sand
he sat upon his house
another layer down
a palace in its time
perhaps he'd lost his crown
i wanted to take him with me
just a finger or some hair
but the sand rushed back upon us
in this tyrant's tomb i share
once i lit a match
the last to find my way
when the light burned out
i heard the dead king say
up and down this street my friend
my knights drew out the crowds
whose stones did little damage
but sealed them in their shrouds
the quiet beyond did suit me
though not so much this grave
i miss the sky above my head
so flush with souls we saved
what do you do for fun
i said
he said nothing's fun
when you're dead
but i suppose i do enjoy the sand
as any dead thing must
like being hugged by
a million shining giants
all of them ground to dust
