“Downright Rotten”

The cemetery gates were left open,

And all manner of life snuck in.

They best remember to lock it again,

Because it’s there to keep things in.

But the night got unruly at half past ten.

There was hoppin’ and a-boppin’

And there was carrying on.

There were songs being sung underground.

You’ll never find a more lively place.

It’s the hottest cemetery around.

Let us set them a spot at the table,

So they’ll all know their place.

For those who dine on blood,

Let them chew with the teeth of wolves,

Until their mouths are filled with mud.

Long after I’m buried,

A piece of me continues to spout.

But that’s why I’m not forgotten;

Because words still ooze from seeping holes.

And this body of mine is downright rotten.

My eyes are full of watering holes.

My toes are curled and crooked.

I’m twisted in an unnatural way.

My fingers are gnarled as well,

And that’s just how they’ll stay.

What a feast I must’ve been.

But the worms have given up

On their turning and their toil.

Their bellies now full,

They return to the soil.

But if you should stumble upon me,

Decaying in an ancient plot,

You may be disappointed,

For I will not be Lot,

Nor his beloved pillar of salt.

There’s a lesson here for vengeful spirits:

If the spit that you spat

Blows back in your face,

Spray it upwind instead,

And let others have a taste.

For if you’ve lived a life of excess,

They’ll remember you when you’re dead.

When you’ve meddled in dealings of sin,

They’ll pat you on the head,

And tell you what a good lad you’ve been.

But I’m not so glad you found me here.

My skin is slick and moist,

And my muscles are all but grease.

Of all the things for you to dig up,

You should’ve let me rot in peace.

You’ve rattled a cage that was fit to burst.

The chains were all but rusted.

You’ve woken a dormant, festering beast.

Now you can show yourselves out.

Just remember to lock the gate at least.

—David Allen