songs about death, pt. 21

the wishing has gone to the bottom of the well
but the words come now like an ocean swell

at the edge of the world is a girl perplexed
she does not know if she should stay or flex

the wheat that is not wheat grows with the weeds
when you are dead you can no longer plant any seeds

change your name, change your face
soon you’ll be going to a different place

a place where the moon is always dark
but you hold in your cupped hand a spark

sometimes it can be more than just a trope,
this thing called hope.

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