The Undertaker's Daughter

Once upon a time,

in a faraway place

There’s a tiny town

that no one thought to name

On the outskirts of the town,

tucked beneath the willow trees

Silent as death,

was a small cemetary

The undertaker's daughter was a maiden most fair

With her sweet rosy pink cheeks and long flaxen hair

Day after day, she learned her father's trade

Day after day, she wandered to the graves

Alone in the corner,

where the light did not shine

was an angel made of stone

who looked up to the sky

Her hands folded in a prayer

Her feet covered in grime

And laying upon them

was a plaque as old as time

The undertaker's daughter had wandered there,

with her sweet rosy pink cheeks and long flaxen hair

She looked to the plaque, and she thought it was odd

She looked to the plaque, the grave's name was gone.

Everyday from then on,

The daughter went there,

to the grave with the angel,

with the plaque that was bare

Sitting there all alone,

the daughter thought that it was sad

No one ever brought flowers

there were no gifts to be had

One day the daughter

Went to the seaside

She played in the sand

With the sun shining bright

While hunting around

The daughter had found

A seashell so beautiful

pearly and round

The undertaker's daughter had searched through there,

with her rosy pink cheeks and her long flaxen hair

She wanted more, of those lovely seashells

She wanted more, and she had a plan, as well...

The undertaker's daughter was maiden most fair,

with her sweet rosy pink cheeks and her long flaxen hair

A gift for the grave, with no name in sight

A gift for the grave, these lovely seashells so bright...

The undertaker's daughter had left them there,

back when she had rosy cheeks and flaxen hair

Now she was gone, but though t'was so long ago

the seashells still shined,

the grave was not alone...

the grave was not alone...

the grave was not alone...