To the solemn graves, near a lonely cemetery, my heart like a muffled drum is beating funeral marches.

I am a cemetery by the moon unblessed.

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried.

When you're dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody.

it is sad to fill a grave with a person full of potential yet completely emptied of anymore possibility to try it once again.

As a small child, I felt in my heart two contradictory feelings, the horror of life and the ecstasy of life.