Hotter than hell is the furnace in which church bells are made.

The knell tolls, a wedding is announced, and at the beginning there’s always fire.

Oh, when I used to think my life was too cushy to ever be great.

My constitution has weakened, the liver is beaten, the situation is dire.

Flower petals strewn across the casket, to what avail?

The single malt is very peaty today, ashes to ashes, they say.

Lifeless bodies march towards the church, to hedonia all hail!

They lived, they died a litte each day, but the inevitable decay none could sway.

The casket crashes to the ground, the door swings open.

Only dust escapes, empty faces now stare back at the void.

It’s not what any of them had envisaged, what anyone was hoping.

Thus emptiness envelops all; in this life filled to the brim, it’s the only effective opioid.

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