A/N: I'm sorry it took so long, but thanks to a kindly reviewer, I will try to update again.
Disclaimer: No, I don't own it… God, frickin' idiot. I don't own Napoleon Dynamite, either.
Burying the Bodies
The earth that I dig up is soaked with blood,
My hands and fingernails are browned by dirt,
These bodies weigh me down into the mud,
This bloody mud, it cakes my pants and shirt.
I cover each body when I am done,
Their dead bodies are hidden by the earth.
No longer will they ever see the sun.
For some of them, my feeling is of mirth.
That emotion is suppressed by sadness.
I see the ugly graves of those three girls.
I'll make sure that their deaths aren't meaningless.
To them, my life was more precious than pearls.
As I weep now over their ugly graves,
I realize I must be one who saves.
A/N: Yes, I used the word mirth. It means happiness or joy. Would he be sad about the deaths of slavers or bandits?