The lake is full so they light a fire instead

Carry me to it, marching me to hell

And the men sing their tuneless songs,

To the beat of the church bell.

I imagine it will ring again, once I am dead.

My dress clings to me like a second skin,

There is a mess of hands pulling at the hem

Some belong to children, they thinks it’s a game.

I curse the rest but I spare them

As the air around me thickens, and then thins.

The flames lick me like hungry dogs

Tongues not hot but cold like the rain,

Which flies from bloated clouds

And douses the town in my silent pain,

Then I hear them squeal like roasting hogs.