Epitaph

here lie the remains of the poet, done
wanted to be two but was only one
finally discovered that life aint fun
finally decided he wanted it done
all he heard was the sound of the blues
all he knew was only bad news
felt he was dead from his head to his shoes
if only he had the option to choose
how had he become a life-long blunder
his delicate balance was torn asunder
why bother to live the old man did wonder
better to be lying six feet under
too much trouble in walking the line
waiting for fate to give him a sign
whether to go in a box of pine
or toss his old bones in the foaming brine
maybe he ought to just go on the lam
but that would just put him deeper in jam
better be rid of the stupid old ham
anyway nobody gives a damn
one if by land and two if by sea
how to proceed with ending me
just so tired I dont want to be
a nondescript boring nonentity
ashes to ashes and dust to dust
let us admit its all been a bust
nothing to love and no one to trust
life is full of remorse and disgust
when the world deals you a kick in the butt
and everyone thinks youre some kind of nut
its time to shove a knife in your gut
or open your veins with a surgical cut
or sleep it away with a bottle of pills
a medical solution to cure your ills
theres a myriad of ways to perform a kill
no trouble in finding for those with the will
a tooth for a tooth and an eye for an eye
no use in staying and wondering why
almost no time for saying goodbye
goodbye
          goodbye
                     goodbye
                                goodbye