Here are the lyrics to what I would consider a modern folk song written, I assume, by Robert Earl Keen who is the only person I've ever heard sing it. I'd call this (in my own way of categorizing folk songs)an American/Southern Gothic song. This one gets into the whole grave business; however, the "resolving" verses could be taken different ways. Considering Keen's music overall though, this whole song could be one big metaphor for something else entirely.

Here in Arkansas

The north wind blows a prairie fire across the open plain
A light shines on the granite stone where someone carved my name

Chorus:
Sister find the preacherman; Daddy call the law
Things have gotten out of hand here in Arkansas

An icy ring around the moon a fire across the sky
They buried me this afternoon and left me here to die

Chorus

Sheriff Clark, Reverend Friend, Mrs. Worthington
Told my family that I'd be the end to all they've done

Chorus

Mother raised the children and daddy worked the farm
I was born the seventh son of the seventh born

Chorus

All the elders did decree my soul to be unclean
They strapped me to a gurney and gave me morphine

Chorus

Sister walks into the night and prays my soul to save
And underneath the cold moonlight she finds my open grave

Chorus

The north wind blows a prairie fire
Here in Arkansas

SC