William Elliott Whitmore The Buzzards Won't Cry
You'll pray for a candle when the darkness falls
when the night time closes in
When life's fateful curtain finally draws
and you won't see the morning again
Those buzzards will circle all overhead
just waiting for you to die
In their hearts they know you'll soon be dead
and not one of them will cry
You'll hope against hope for one last breath
when you find that yours is gone
In this world there won't be nothin' left
just a pile of bleached white bones
