Climb those cemetery walls again; leave these flowers at your headstone.
Climb those cemetery walls again, every night;
you can’t stand the sight of yourself.
“Now that you’re gone, what am I to do?
But get lost in this bottle thinking of you.”
You drink until you’re sick.
“I trace the grooves in your stone.”
Plot where you’ll bury him, the man that left you alone.
You drink until you’re sick, and feel the dew in the grass.
As the sun’s coming up, watch a funeral pass.
You think to yourself, “That should have been me.”
Two in the family plot, when you wish it were three.”