Don’t speak ill of the dead
Don’t speak ill of the dead they say
They are now spirit
Unbound by the rules of time or space
They will hear your speech before you say it
And clog the water in your pipes
Which any way is the ill you speak of
Or they may remove the bumps on your way
And lead the angels to hail you
As if the ill they wrought is now buried with the flesh
They didn’t crave their friends wife
Or collect the poor farmers seeds
That was their living actions
Now they are dead, they can do no evil
They can neither seize nor maul
Neither lie nor say the truth
So speak no ill of the dead
They are dead
The ills they wrought are now buried with the flesh
Nailed down shut in their coffins
Left alone with them in the stone vault
Arguing with the worms and the heat
The enzymes that disregard their robes
And return them and their ills to the earth
That speaks neither ill nor praise
Of the dead or of the living.
The earth just witnesses.
