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.


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An old-fashioned sonority ►


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