One's left with only sorrow and disease

the undertakers peer and say Oho

the timid mutter into their goatees

you hear your spouse pay off the medico

You get like dirty goods on busy quays

your mind turns more and more to gloom and woe

for death casts piles of shit on pedigrees

with moth and rust we settle all we owe

The brave man cries I do not care a jot

the coward mutters Why was I begot?

the masons give your tomb a final clean

Oh reader thinking thus your heart will lock

you cannot number off each ploch and pock

clear from the start the ending is foreseen