In the bedlam
of bed-land,
happy as babies,
active as rabbits,
me sky-father
you earth-mother;
“Farewell”, “Dionysus” and “Duffy Ain’t Here”
Kids, when I cut out of this life,
don’t turn on the tears and grieve;
kids, when I die I don’t want
any golden speeches saying kind things
about me or some windbag sniveling about
death’s sting, God’s grace and
the triumphant rise to heaven.