Live

Dead! Rotting, bloating, dead!
Putrification plague
This flesh no more. Parade
Those maggots elsewhere. Shed
Corruption from the soul. 
Deny Charon his toll. 

Stay the hand that nurses
The wound and break the back
Of First Clown who's soil, black,
Is strewn 'bout with curses
To the earth, foul smelling
Air, bones never telling

And the dark dismal deed. 
Dry the tears of those who,
Though tried, feign to love you. 
Stable the sombre steed
That drives the procession
With purpose and passion. 

Ignite the wretchéd wreaths
And destroy the daisies. 
Each petal a maybe
Whispered against the breeze
Of gale-force, livid nays
And gusting, placid yeas.