Don't sulk now, your job is not the worst
This guy leaves at bizarre hours, lives to unearth
with his shovel he lets the useless morsels disperse
until the hollow fits the precious that it's worth
In the dark amidst the dead the gravedigger works
singing a requiem, neglecting those who lurks
His cigarette burns as the cold wind blows
As if someone's curious, these drifting souls
far in the blackness, where no one knows
where nothing breathes where moonlight glows
On the foggy hill the gravedigger sighs
at the sight of the victim without goodbye
Dragging the thing, "oh the last thing to do"
but he never asks why, or "what happened to you?"
for no one asked him what he had gone through
although he's the only one who hears it coo,
Forgotten and gone, like the existence of fairies
the last thing to do, the gravedigger buries
just so you know, why his job is harsh and scary-
this gravedigger has to bury memories.
