Cemeteries on the go.
Made from yes & made from no.
Burial, quick turnaround.
Stacking bodies below ground.
Plots for rent but not for sale.
Five allowed for mourners’ wail.
Then it’s up & outta here.
Grass grows dull without its tears.
Our ends are not ours stave.
Living’s penalty is grave.
Soon, it seems, Death may speed up…
As cult leaders proffer cup.

