If I die and they put on a show
by Chuck Audette
with my body, I guess I won't know
but it'll cost a bunch, which I can't abide
just to fill me up with formaldehyde.
Pluck my eyebrows and give me a shave?
Cremate me please, or I'll roll in my grave.
Scatter my ashes from a place way up high
with a strong wind blowing, I'll take to the sky
if somewhere my ex-wife starts to cry
there's really no need to wonder why -
it wasn't that I was such a great a guy
but I've probably just got stuck in her eye.