Respite in twilight, space in the cavity wall at grandparent's house behind the apple tree.
Where once you sang with your siblings now watching bodies bobbing down the stream leaving the town.
I'm a picture of no flesh only bones as we're stripping off my skin to run it up the pole,
and salute the breeze that ripples the sheath of the skeleton that's trembling on the ground beneath
Walked your entire country up the central reservation
Take me to the boneyard baby, take me to the boneyard baby
The deadest stare, the slackest hair, the saddest conversation
take me to the boneyard baby, take me to the boneyard baby
We rifle through piles of bones
For something to chew on
For something to own
Through my teenage years at my mother's house, every evening 6 times there comes a phone call to ask
"Where's my daughter gone?". She moved six years ago.
Now receiver's cold, the phone calls dry, there's no one home.
And that is what we feared the most.
We rifle through piles of bones
For something to chew on
For something to own
and so we stitched our eyes and mouths closed lest we open them
breaking the seal that our bodies have formed
as a natural defence just to hold back the sorrow
that friends made today will be deaths mourned tomorrow.