it's /your// funeral; blitz [charade]

[Lei]

Senseless injustice, tread on heads like dust of the earth
Cut off the hands of the ones that are reaching out
Are we so calloused, these cries are going unheard?
This blood covers me just as much as you

The atmosphere in the cemetery today is grim, as the atmosphere in most cemeteries tend to be. However, when you live and work in one for as long as I have, you become sort of immune to the heavy air of sadness and despair that Death often brings to those whose friends and family members have felt its touch. This is the case as I watch a funeral being carried out further into the cemetery, a small cluster of people further down the row of worn tombstones, each adorned in the dark clothes of mourning and their heads bowed in grief as they say their final good-byes. I stand not thirty feet away, under the shade of an old oak tree as my breath puffs out in front of me and the cold bites at the tips of my fingers as I clutch the shovel in my hand. They’ll need me to bury their loved one once the funeral has ended, and I need to be nearby in order to do so.

A flash of blonde catches my eye amongst the graveyard’s dull grays and blacks, a girl standing not far off before one of the tombstones. Strange, I don’t think I’ve seen her here before… I’m usually pretty good with faces, and I don’t recognize her as one of the regulars who come often to visit lost family and former loves. Curious and a little suspicious, I abandon my post beside the tree and move closer, and as I do, I see her hand reach out and snatch something from beside the tombstone. My fingers automatically tighten around the shovel, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“S’cuse me, miss. But do you know who’s buried here?”

They say this world is what I make of it
Am I the only one that wants to see a change?
I've turned my back on all my brothers dying in their broken homes
I dug the graves of the ones I am called to love

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[charade]

I've been feeling lonely today. The group home does little to make me feel like I'm actually at home and once again I find myself wandering the district in search of something better to do than feel sorry for myself. I was accused of taking someones ring and even though I tried to explain that I was just admiring it and must have forgotten to put it back when I was done, but no one wanted to hear it. As I walk, I find a large procession blocking my path. Someone's kicked the bucket and all these people have turned out to see them. I doubt there would be this many at my funeral.

I decide to cut through the graveyard to shorten my journey, even though I'm not entirely sure where my feet are planning to take me today. As I walk something glints and catches my eye. It's a small bunch of violets held together by foil. They smell wonderful and so can't have been out here all that long. I move along, tapping the occasional tombstone with my fingertips until a voice breaks my concentration. It's a question, but one I don't know the answer to. The boy off to my right is dark haired and tired eyed, clutching a shovel in one hand. Does he work here? How horrid.

"Lots of people are buried here. How am i supposed to know?"

I state this matter of factly with a hand on my hip. What kind of question is that to ask a person?