The poems I read, oh how they’re sad,
They talk about one thing; the dead.
The poems I read, oh they’re not bad.
But they talk about one thing; the dead.

But why not talk about flowers and kisses;
And how a miss gets married and becomes a misses.

The poems I read, oh how they make me mad.
They only talk about the dead.
Let’s honor them, yes, but not so of’en.
Just remember, they won’t know, they’re inside a coffin.

But life goes on;
Every day is like a new beginning;
The previous day always forgiving.
The sun rises and a bird sings;
Everything awakens; all living things.
Clouds come and go,
As busy people know.
Men in suits and women in dresses,
Running around and cleaning up messes.

A baby cries;
Someone dies.
Happiness and tears;
A common theme throughout the years.
Then the sun goes down.
And there’s no more soun’.