Sunday Story

Grave Cat 

Grave cat, Grave cat, smelly little brave cat

What do you have in your little grey mouth

Sometimes dry, often wet, chewing old bones on the welcome mat

Waiting to pounce as they rise from their grave

From the greatest king, to the lowest naive

The sound of your call like rusted metal

As claws dig deep and sting like nettle

Pray you do not stray so I may be brave

As the dead awake and leave their grave

Glad I am for the things you eat

As the lost come back on shuffled feet

So glad I am to see your furless face

As you scurry and save the human race

I wish there were more with skin so grey

So that we may live another more day

Alas it’s a shame it’s not meant to be

As the graves give out and the dead walk free

There’s isn’t a place to live anymore

Now i’m waiting for them to come through the door


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