Where The Dead Grass Grows Poem by Stephen Carey

No, brother, we shouldn’t go there.
Let’s turn and go another way.
‘Cause you know the dead grass grows where
You are on your last day.

Do you see those butterflies?
Do you see their blackened wings?
This is what becomes of lies
And other terrible things.

We have to go, nobody knows.
Do not make such a fuss.
That is where the dead grass grows,
It is no place for us.

You see even the honey
In the fallen tree is rotten.
You see all the laws of the world
Have simply been forgotten.

Where the dead grass grows,
Everything is old.
They wandered far, and they were lost.
Where the dead grass grows,
Everything is cold.
They didn’t know life was the cost.

No, brother, we can’t go near.
Let’s turn and go away from here.
Because this place I dare not peer
Is the only thing I truly fear.