Dropping Dead

If I drop dead while walking
between here and the mailbox
pick me up and take me home

Don’t bother dressing me in anything
I wouldn’t wear to the movies
go cheap on the coffin
and get lots of good food

As for whatever the hell you think I’ll be doing in heaven,
I’m not going
I’m afraid of heights, allergic to feathers
and I hate harps

Grieve all you want but don’t forget
while you’re standing there
I’m the one who’s dead

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