By day, the graveyard trees For the mourners grieve, and Shed pink tears in a breeze. The sun's a kind warm hand Upon the families, Who weep for bones below the stones. But, cruel night, when he comes by, And lays the sun to rest; His moon it's headstone high Within his darkling nest, He shines a frightening light And grotesque shadows tend the stones. And like some moaning skeletons, The trees wave arms of skin and bone. No one will come back to mourn the dead: Lest the dead should rise from their beds!Birth sign: Cancer
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