I was shuffling the street down the churchyard
With intent to beg some money for booze.
So there was the last day for the rest of my life.
I'm trying to drunk dial to my wise God
Just to keep me in the game, but I lose.
He is so kind just to cut the line with his knife.
While the sun is splashing spitting golden sparks,
Shades of early autumn slink with noiseless tread
Whispering to aged men strolling in the park.
What a perfect day to kick the bucket!
Wind blows
Through the holes in my pockets that mean nothing has changed.
Dolce vita and me - we were always estranged.
Then the priest yells, his voice rings as a bell,
His soft blue eyes are sticky with the money, as well,
He invites us to buy the merchandise o with Holy Church
trademark or to burn in hell.
Let's shuffle,
Dear loafers. Beware of how you dance on this path,
Though blue bus will have to pick up each of us.
Thanks a lot for all the things that must pas.
Let us shuffle as long as I'm right here with you.
One day later the Lord will behold me
with the holed pockets full of the morning dew. |
