You have to kill them after they're dead
There are a thousand coffins to fill
Cardboard coffins for receipts and bills
And holey sweaters you can't keep

Black, elastic coffins for the waste
That precious half sandwich they never ate
Dust, wrappers, stained, soiled- bury it all
Bury it, bury it, while you still can

The dead becomes a Midas man
Everything he touched, every scrap
Will soon reflect him back
But nothing gold can stay

A home video with bad sound
Four diaries with smudged entries
And a flattering photo
Who he was to me, who he was to he, and how he wanted to be
Keep only these three

On the little ark
Then treat the rest like that vengeful God
Let your salty flood erode and dissolve
The gold, the ashes, the scraps, the love
Then, and only then send out the dove