Dead Men Don't Cry

Dead Men Don't Cry

I watch through the window
Of my family mourning sad;
I touched my rotting hand on
The darkened windowsill;
Wanted to cry and weep yet ah,
My tear ducts work no more,
Cause dead men don't cry, no.
Dead men don't cry.

Even when sheer will and longing
Rose me up above, my claws
Digging through the coffin wood,
Through the gravel and soil, the grave;
My will to rise, just to tell my family bye;
Just to ask my family to forgive,
The father that had to die unannounced.

And when I knocked on the door, I
Flung my arms open, missed them so from
The world beneath!
For 'tis them that hath made me strong enough
To rise up and claw the coffin-wood.

Yet they hit me with their broomsticks,
Their frying pans and all;
"Monstrosity!" they yelled as they
Drove me out of town.
I ran away, I ran away from
The villagers with torches,
I felt like crying, to shed some tears,
But dead men just don't cry.
Dead men just don't cry.