On this dead poets' day 
We close our eyes as we pray
For all the hearts beyond absolve
Their marrow dry, their gold facade
loss for words right from the start
For all the minds beyond our sway
In the dead poets' dark
They have torn out the heart of hearts
And filled the cavity with a cage
swarm of lost, they set ablaze
The flourished [bad word] they will abate
puerile plague that calls alarm
Ink fills the page
Words are erased
And lost in doubt, we carry out
Ink covers sheets
Stone memories
That fade away and lost their place 
On this dead poets' day
Corrosion pens a yellow page
And bleeds [bad word] to song
choir loud that belt and balk
And simple [bad word] transposed to waltz
Is nothing more then yesterday
I’ll leave this life
If you’ll bury me;
Please leave your heart 
In my grave for thieves;
Fight or flight
I’ll be relieved;
This place is
No place to be