The dead don't speak,
Nor shed tears of grief.
They lie there motionless,
Still in shock of their end.
We pray, we cry,
We feel the sorrow.
Then we smile,
Our hearts left hollow.
Sometimes we can't see,
Can't accept the pain—
Or we pretend to ignore it.
Perhaps we don't care;
At least we are living,
Breathing our fair share.
We bury them off,
Some burn them in fire.
Then we head home,
Back to our lives,
Forgetting all desire.