Feast at the Edge of a Grave

Feasts don’t hide the grave. They just set the table closer to it.

I seen weak men raise their glass, Dancin’ blind as shadows pass. I seen strong men watch the ground, Hearin’ death without a sound.

Feast at the edge of a grave, Weak men laugh while the strong men save. Comfort’s sweet, but it cuts like a knife, Strong men fight while the weak waste life.

Weak men sleep in golden halls, Strong men brace when the darkness calls. Weak men cheer while the hour is late, Strong men guard at the devil’s gate.

Feast at the edge of a grave, Weak men stumble, strong men brave. Don’t be the fool who sings through the night, Be the man who holds the light.

The table breaks. The wine runs red. The grave waits.

Feast at the edge of a grave, Weak men fall where the strong men save. Don’t be the drunk who dies in song— Be the strong man, ridin’ on.

Feasts fade. The grave don’t.

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