dancing on my grave

one day, just a day, like all days before then,
i stopped by a crowd of some women and men
and some kids, boys and girls, there were gathered as well,
some silent, some crying, at least as far as I could tell.

so i watched, and i listened, whats going on here?
i hadnt a clue, but i did feel some fear,
very soon it turned out, i was right to feel so,
i shouldnt have been there, but i still gave it a go...

it wasnt all normal, it wasnt all good,
i was lost for a minute, but soon understood.
as i looked for an answer, i clearly could see:
they were burying someone, and that someone - it was me...

the shock was just brief, i was fine right away,
it was done, they all left, i decided to stay.
as i looked at my tombstone, i didnt feel brave,
i did what i had to, i started dancing on my grave.

i waltzed and i polka’d, i tangoed and jived,
like dancers who danced and while dancing they thrived,
but soon it was over, so clear in my head,
it wasnt the same now, life is boring when you’re dead...readeo.html