But...

It's gruesome living in a graveyard but,

I have nowhere else to go.

The path to my house is short but,

I pass the epitaphs of thousands

A group of people partied by that oak tree but,

They left the cans behind.

A small boy played in the sand but,

The wheels to his toy are still here.

Some woman could have put her hair up but,

She dropped her rubber band.

The man with big feet is gone but,

The old shoe tells his story.

I would show you more traces of the past but,

What would be the point?

Wrappers, glass, tires, fumes, death, but,

you don't want to hear about it, do you?

I could tend to the Earth myself but,

I'm not the caretaker, am I?