L.y.r.i.c.s.

[mutedtorment]

Don't you laugh as the hearse goes by.
For you may be the next to die.
They wrap you in a big white sheet.
They cover your head and your feet.

Then they put you in a big black box.
And cover you with dirt and rocks.
All goes well for about a week.
Then your coffin begins to leak.

The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out.
The worms play pinnoid on your snout.
They eats your eyes, they eat your nose.
They eat the jelly between your toes.

Then a big green worm with red glowing eyes.
Crawls in your stomach and out your eyes.
Your stomach turns a slimy green.
And puss pours out like whipping cream.
You spread it on a piece of bread.
And that is what you eat when you are dead.

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I love this poem.