Funeral Choir

The stones keep coming

The Blood has risen too high.

The floodgates have been opened

I am now ready to die.

Send me not to burial;

Lament not over me.

I despise your moment’s ritual;

Cult sympathy.

Cast me to your old wives

Throw me into the sermonic tale.

Feed me to the critics while the

Bait is far from stale.

Marvel at your own insight

Into the tragedy

You never knew.

Yes, do come

With your flowers

To cover the stones

You threw.