Fancy Graves

The rich man built a big stone building
Where folks could come to see him
After he was dead and gone
It’s called a mausoleum

I started down a dark church stairway
And on one step I tripped
I landed in a place that was full of tombs
A room that’s called a crypt

In my hands are the ashes of a cremated king
Where do you think I should carry ‘em?
Let’s put those ashes in a fancy urn
And take ‘em to the columbarium

If all you leave behind is bones
That doesn’t have to be scary
You can put them in a hallowed place
That’s called an ossuary

If you want to spend eternity in a fancy grave
There’s no need to be a sulker
Just save your money your whole life through
And buy your own sepulcher

No, you don’t have to wind up in the cramped cold ground
When your time has drawn to a close
The world is full of fancy places
Where you can decompose

by Tom Meltzer ©The Princeton Review