Don't ever laugh as the Hearse slowly drives by,
Cause it may very well be you,
that is the next one to die,
Unwillingly filled with formaldehyde,
Flushing your veins and preserving your hide.

Placed in a pine box, and dropped in the ground,
With your still grieving family, all huddled around.
The tapping of roses, as they're dropped down below,
Then the sounds of the shovels, like feet through the snow.

And sure, you'll be fine, for a week, maybe two....