they have been digging our graves foot by foot
we still stand six feet above, breathing, singing.

they know something we don't
and we could say the same about them,

on the verge of disappearing,
you can see us
happy as the dove and its pair,
six feet in the air

we've been measured for our wooden boxes
truth be told, they've been measuring their own

coffins lined with cheap satin and lace
open and waiting, oh, they will have to wait so much longer
i'm still dancing aren't i?

we're the living-but-not-for-longs,
at least we have lives.

you there, etching our headstones,
sing for me?

how are we the dead ones?
you haven't smiled for days.