Speak of spirits, speak of names
Of those whose souls were e'er retained
By the planet, after death
Alive, aware, but without breath
Speak of hopeful, eager minds
Ones that died before their time
Speak of parents, and of graves
Of those who will never be saved
Speak of forests, cool and green
Housing corpses, never seen
Explorers lost, and never found
Decayed, upon the frozen ground
Speak of memorials, proud and tall
Dedicated to those who fall
Perhaps it'll give unknown soldiers peace
Or perhaps even final release
Wandering souls, never sleeping,
Watching, waiting, sighing, weeping;
The dead know one thing, besides their plight;
They know that it's better to be alive.
Author's Note
This was inspired by a quote from Full Metal Jacket: "The dead know only one thing: that it is better to be alive." I forget what else was going on in my head at the time.