The Grave Keeps Better Accounts Than Men

You wrote your debts on whiskey tabs, Swore on bones and broken hands. But the grave don’t deal in silver lies, It collects what God demands.

The grave keeps better accounts than men, It don’t forget, it don’t pretend. Stone remembers where ink will fade, Your oath’s been tallied, your price is paid.

Blood was cheaper when you spoke, Now the cost is carved in oak. Crosses rise like ledger lines, Every debt comes due in time.

The grave keeps better accounts than men, It don’t forgive, it don’t amend. Six feet down, the balance made, Dust don’t argue, and bones don’t trade.

The grave don’t bargain… It just collects.

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