Do you ever think as a hearse goes by,
that you may be the next to die?
They wrap you up in a big white sheet
From your head down to your feet.
They put you in a big black box,
And cover you up 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 pinochle on your snout.
They eat your eyes, they eat your nose,
They eat the jelly between your toes.
A big green worm with rolling eyes,
Crawls in your stomach and out your eyes.
Your stomach turns a slimy green,
And pus pours out like whipping cream.
You spread it on a slice of bread,
And that's what you eat when you are dead.
eeeek!!!
ReplyDeleteDouble eeek! :)
ReplyDeleteI hope you'll follow my blog, too. I think it might be your kind of thing. :)
brilliant! this is my kind of poetry. you could write this on an on.
ReplyDeletekeep going ... somehow i think the earth should cave in around the box with sticks and glass and jagged rocks. and in the hole a horse did trip and killed the man on it did sit. and he hit the ground with sucha thud that the horse could no longer stud ...
nikonsniper steve
For sure Mary I would love to follow your blog :D Seems exciting.
ReplyDeleteAnd yes Stephen I do love this kinf of poetry!! Its gross yet... interesting haha