There is something inherently evil about the dead.
The way they cast their boney hands in the air and roll in their graves, their eyes gone dark the way they turn on you, and leave without a thought (about you and living and the world in general.)
There is evil in their decay, rotting to the core, as they point out their indifference to your fate, asking only if you put flowers on their grave. (They do not bother you with advice about what stock to buy, or numbers to populate that million dollar lotto try.) Selfish to the finish - There is evil in their smiles where they lay contented in places beyond our ears, laughing at the joke we present on a daily basis. Rather they are concerned with the inane:
Is my car still shiny, does the dog miss me?
These sinister questions that they ask.
It is as if they have left for another place Say Florida, somewhere you can't go, not yet anyway, forgot about the bills, and the house, they don't call and they don't care to either.
Because there is evil in their bones through and through
And no amount of crying will make it go away