Skeletons

Deep within the mountain pine Marked by blackened stone Lies guilt the law could never find Reduced to rotting bone Dear Mother knew the landscape Sweet Gramma knew the oil You said Keep it in the family We'll keep him in the soil Fiat justitia ruat cælum Father don't forgive us Your prayer's an empty spell If God could shape one soul like his We'd rather burn in hell If God could shape one soul like his We'd gladly burn in hell