The brownstone reeks of age and the wake was in full swing The sound of drunken gentlemen hovered somewhere south of deafening Mouths full, laughing, they’re singing:
Light up! Light a million votives for, for the union dead! Let echoes of our fathers shade the night, the night a bloody red, and lest we forget: the dead don’t rest.
We went into the kitchen when the conversation stalled, a pocket sea of silence but footsteps bounced along the hall. Those outside burst in, tearing up our world, singing:
Drink up! Empty out your glasses for, for the Union Dead! Stay drunk for decades, keep the memories where we want them to stay instead! And if we forget the dead will rest.
Old men bluster, making choking sounds, wolfing their supper, silver flashing all around. The past is over, pinned like bugs to cork, our fathers’ fathers holding tight to what once was.
Light up! Light a million votives for, for the union dead! Let echoes of our fathers shade the night, the night a bloody red, and lest we forget: the dead don’t rest. Drink up! Empty out your glasses for, for the Union Dead! Stay drunk for decades, keep the memories where we want them to stay instead! And if we forget the dead will rest.