It's hard to believe
every walking talking
person you see
is on the high road to the grave,
and nothing and no-one can save
them, sooner or later
they'll all be bagged and tagged,
burned to a turn
or tipped into little holes
in the groaning ground.
That's the final destination,
boys and girls,
for all our smiles and laughter ...
but is there an existence after?
From those shady bourns
no traveller returns:
there are no
whispers, no helpful hints.
Interesting, wouldn't you say,
if only for effect,
if everyone got, after death,
exactly what they expect?
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