This Ain’t My Grave

Go ahead.

Throw the dirt.

You carved my name in cedar pine, Said “Rest in peace, the end of time.” Cold wind blowing through that place — But this ain’t my grave.

You closed the lid, you walked away, Thought I’d rot beneath the clay. But I don’t stay where men decay — Not that way.

You should’ve known by now…

This ain’t my grave. This ain’t my ground. You can bury me deep — I’m coming out.

This ain’t my grave. I don’t belong. You can kill the body — But the will’s too strong.

This ain’t my grave.

I’ve been lowered into black, Heard that final shovel crack. But death don’t hold what won’t submit — And I don’t quit.

You think this dirt can make me fade? You think fear can make me stay? You should’ve learned from last time — I don’t break.

You don’t cage a man Who’s past afraid.

This ain’t my grave. This ain’t my end. You can try to close the door — I won’t bend.

This ain’t my grave. This ain’t my stone. If you see my name carved — It ain’t my home.

This ain’t my grave.

You only get one clean burial.

This ain’t my grave. This ain’t my fate. You should’ve finished it — Now it’s too late.

You can throw your dirt, You can say my name — But I don’t die The same.

This ain’t my grave.

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