And I Will...

Come to your funeral

In an eye patch

And puffed out winged flying trousers

And your family will not know

If I am taking the piss

As I keep a straight face

And press an iron swastika

Into the soft soil

Of your freshly packed grave.

 

Or maybe,

Instead of a swastika,

It will be a large condom in a gold packet

Or a baby's little boot

And at the wake I will present your next of kin

With the bill for the cleaning of a suit.

 

And I will drink heavily

And attempt to light a fart

And present a rambling toast

Calling you a bloated rapist

In confusing, friendly tones

And describe how you once

Opened a Turkish Baths in Little Armenia

Called 'Ethnic Cleansing'

And I will recall your favorite saying

A motto you lived by:

'If life gives you Aids - Make Lemon Aids'.

And hopefully,

There will be someone,

Angry, red-faced

Eager to defend your honor

Ready to punch

And I will suddenly switch my eye patch

From the right to the left

And adopt a Southpaw stance

Allowing me to land

The first blow.

 

And we will get into

An undignified scuffle

And I will know at least

That you meant something

To someone.

 

As the worms

Eat your brains

Through your eyeballs.