Plain Pine Box
Ola Lindgren, Grave
Far below the living in a plain pine box
I was put to rest for the their sanctuary
The bells they ring but not for me
Forced to pay my sins in holy remedy
But my eyes still bleed
And my hands are clinched
Far below the sun
Buried on these hallowed grounds
Terror in their eyes at the sight of my remains
Unearthly wounds and scars
Ignoring my last wish to remain godless and free
They wash their hands of me
Exhume my bones and take me home
Far from the cries of the dead
Save my soul from this sacred ground
I see the smiles of the dead
I'm forced below against my will
Reveled by illusions of my last will