| A lifetime of accomplishments of which the dirt knows none
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| Only in death can one truly return
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| Return the carrots, the apples and potatoes
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| The chickens, the cows, the fish and tomatoes
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| In one glorious swoop, let the deed be done
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| And bury me deep so that I can be one…
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| And all around my muscle and all around my bone
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| Don’t incinerate me or seal me from
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| The dirt which bore me, the bed that which from
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| The rain falls upon and the fruit comes from
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| For the dirt is a blanket, no fiery tomb
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| No punishment, reward, or pearly white room
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| And you who say that in death we will pay
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| The dead they can’t hear a word that you say
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| Your words are not kind, sober or giving
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| They only put fear in the hearts of the living
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| So put away your tongues and roll up your sleeves
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| And pick up your shovel and bury me deep |