Good heavens no!
(Reflections of an aging but impenitent womanizer)
When I depart to that last rest
unless required dread fires to stoke
or groom the wings of angels blest
I'll give the Magdalene a poke.
The harp or lyre I cannot sound
or sing in tune to any hymn.
The Elysian Fields to wander round
but finding saints so very prim.
It might be hard to socialize
if for bonking, booze, and fingerfood
the inmates are all far too wise.
I'd find it dire to be so good!
Perhaps I'll be a sinner again
to be despatched straight down below
reach Satan's warm and cozy den
and find so many friends I know!