| Rally up my friends,
|
| Come and stand by my bedside.
|
| If I die tonight
|
| Put my head inside a masons jar.
|
| Put it in the ocean
|
| And send it out to sea,
|
| I’m wading because-
|
| And when I hit some shore,
|
| And when my seal is broke,
|
| I’ll split my eyes and lips asking,
|
| «Is this a judgement or a joke?»
|
| This is a chance to make it up.
|
| This is a chance to dissect it.
|
| This is a chance to break it up.
|
| These are the words we’ve selected.
|
| Don’t believe my lies
|
| Of an afterlife spent drifting,
|
| After 30 hours I sank straight
|
| to the bottom,
|
| Of the harbor near my home.
|
| There I lay alone.
|
| The spidercrab is finely clad
|
| Beneath my cloak of brain and bone.
|
| These are the notes we’ve selected.
|
| In the basement of the dress shop,
|
| They play poker on the weekend,
|
| Old men trading laces,
|
| It’s an absolute disgrace.
|
| They never gave a tip to the boy who
|
| ran the route.
|
| They never gave a shit
|
| what the paper was about.
|
| When they heard he’d died
|
| They read the news that day,
|
| Just so they could see what his
|
| obituary would say
|
| It said:
|
| Rally up my friends and stand by my
|
| bedside.
|
| Rally up my friends and stay with me
|
| tonight. |