Race Of The Dead Poem by Kelly Boutin

When you're a skeleton
it doesn't matter if you're black or white

so come on, stranger
hold this cemetery tight
and hold on to the stone so cold
it cares when they really don't

Oh, we're all friends here and family,
we all belong to the dead oak tree
we all sleep on pine needle beds
we all belong to the same
race of the dead

our bones here don't ever hurt
time has no meaning on this earth
we all sit, but we don't stay
we just keep running in our graves

Oh, we watch them run from our graves
our skeleton hands just aren't the same
as theirs, we hear them say
in a whisper, like we can't hear
Oh, because they're afraid
but here you know we never run away
we all belong to the same race;
the race of the dead.