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Are they dead deriding the living

Or alive and playing dead

No one knows for sure

Until they put up a fight

You cannot die

If you have not lived

Stilborn, still alive

But not quite dead

Planted halfway upside down

Eating dirt beneath the shade

Of savannah grass none have seen above

Unendangered by it's blades

Porcelain too fair for drink

Uncalloused, but callow and wilted through

Or virtues hardened by the grind

Steel vindicated by toil

Between the lines

Of what we can define

Not quite dead, not quite alive

Rotting dead before your time

If it consoles you to the other side

For the love of those who passed away

You’re afraid to live, afraid to die

So you’re procrastinating death

And rotting alive

Between the lines

Of what we can define

Not quite dead, not quite alive

Rotting dead before your time

If it consoles you to the other side

For the love of those who passed away

You’re afraid to live, afraid to die

So you’re procrastinating death

And rotting alive