dust to dust

If you had a dagger would you
slather it with poison and poke it in?
I'm just a piece of the frame work in the portrait
that you're painting
I'm a ghost in the
Rock-cut bust
that you claim once held a curse
But if dust turns to dust,
I'm lost,
Where do you think the
ashes
end up?

If you had a dagger would
you slather it with poison and poke it in?
I'm thinking maybe
You would scathe me
About pert near
Anything

So the noose that rocks above you
Means that you're shooting hoops
And bullshitting
Go back to the same old place
where you're getting your splintering ribs
kicked in.

I'm lamenting as my final breaths escape the vents of the catacombs
And the ground freezes up
Not growing
We're stuck
How the hell you call it a living?

We're just giving up