I had a bitter enemy
His heart to hate he gave
and when I died he swore that he
would dance upon my grave
that he would leap and laugh because a livid corpse was I
and that's the reason why I was
in no great haste to die

And then such is the quirk of fate
one day with joy I read
despite his vitalizing hate
my enemy was dead
maybe the poison in his heart
had helped to haste his doom
he was not spared till I depart
to spit upon my tomb

The other day I chanced to go
to where he lies alone
tis easy to forgive a foe
when he is dead and gone...
poor devil now his day is done
(though bright it was and brave)
yet I am happy there is none
to dance upon my grave