At the wedding of the dead
I went to see a dead man's wedding today.
I can sing again, some may say,
Even if the bridegroom cuts out his heart
And swears they'd never part
I'll plant a heart in the national park
But the NIMBYs would exclaim,
In addition flowers cannot bloom,
For the NIMBYs are in their 60s with no debts,
They think they'll live for ever
But between the layers of birdsong death is compulsory
Just like undressing to go to bed.
In addition to the sadness, we must learn to cry
Recall the joy of laughter and sod what comes after
I myself am in the mood of one whose head continued to exclaim
Like a second home in a rural district
Empty for most of the year
Whilst young people have nowhere to live
Oh! full of all the faux rural charms
But no bugger turns their hand to anything
It is alarming
I am so bored listening to rich old gits.
Taking the piss.
Sunflower grass grows on a black loam
And the liquor is best drunk whilst on a bicycle,
He'd never owned anything
But he knew right well the rolling moon lit up night
and his ma and pa had come to his wedding
O! so many years ago and he can sing old songs again
One day at the wedding of his dead friend.