The hearse was stationed in front of the church for too long,
Its engine unexpectedly broke down,
Your coffin must have been sun burnt,
And it makes me feel good to know, that even dead,
You are uncomfortable where you are.

You must be toasting inside,
Too bad you are already dead to suffer a little more,
But at least I’ll be happy in the knowledge that, even dead,
You are uncomfortable where you are.

All those evil wishes coming to fruition,
Although I admit now it is too late,
But for me your funeral is just as good a time because, even dead,
You are uncomfortable where you are.

All those satin linings on the inside,
And those soft cottony layers you now lie on,
They cushion you post-rigor mortis, but thanks for the sun, even dead,
You are uncomfortable where you are.

Do you actually know that two days later,
In the dark of the night,
The morticians will go back to where you were buried,
And exchange your oak-tree coffin with chrome handles,
With one of the plainest woods, and have someone else die in the coffin,
For just two days at a time, before a third gets the royal treatment.

And you were complaining of the sun!