"THE BONEYARD"
By  Ron McVan

Down the avenue of heartache, Past the gates of desperation, There's a rusted sign, Where the buzzards sit, Neath a sky, Of trepidation.   Through a gloomy malaise, Of foggy gray, The faceless walk, Lifes path of dismay, In that lonely space, Where night meets day...
At the boneyard, Of broken souls......

Hear the forlorn sadness, The dismal hard-luck stories, The shattered dreams, Failed ambitions..., Despair..., And abortive glories.   Whether rich or poor, Its all the same test, Man wrestles his fate, Without hope, without rest, And here I thought I was just a guest...
At the boneyard, of broken souls......

Turning gears of strife and struggle, Grinding forever in city and town, Dog eat dog, Old age and worries, It will use a man up, It will beat him down.   The young, The old, Every race, every caste, Will know futility, When they breathe their last, Always hurrying somewhere, Getting nowhere fast...  At the boneyard, Of broken souls......

Now I move drifting nowhere, Through this hellish din, Thinking how life, Really could have been, If I just had more time, I know I could win...!   Then a hideous laughter, Rose up from the crowd, It got louder and ghastly, And louder than loud! When I realized I too, Was a prisoner like them...  At the boneyard, Of broken souls!!!