Dead

The poet is dead
It’s me and my friends
At a funeral
And we’re not crying
Clowns dressed as hippies are dancing around
Playing little trumpets and a bass drums around
The priest doesn’t know
What to say
You can tell someone’s on cocaine
I’ve been in this place
When I was young
Riding my bike
When I was young
Hearing a voice crackling in my head
Hearing a voice say «you're not dead»
The poet is dead
It’s me and my friends
At a funeral
We’re not crying
I’ve been in this place
When I was young
Riding my bike
When I was young
Hearing a voice crackling in my head
Hearing a voice say «you're not dead»