Dead Dressed

Dead Dressed
One tenth of her.
I feel her talking
Through my stand-up hairs.
Which of you,
Or does he touch them,
Or is he daft.
It's hard boys.
Alone and old,
It's really like her,
It wears her clothes,

I might be,
I might be.
But you're not me
And you don't know
I'm back in the mine.
Don't be afraid my love
For you to die.
It stands it's ground
As I stand mine.
The ex-flesh
Of the temperature,
I'm just as beautiful
As your light allows.