Solemn Voices

 A traffic jam of black shiny limousines
Effortlessly floats past somber faced sheep
They stand to attention like dead-pan marines
Apparently trying not to weep
The chapel unlocks it’s heavenly gates
They stampede in quietly to get a good seat
It’s such a disgrace, a faux pas, to turn up late
In a tarty frock whilst wearing pink shoes on your feet
The throng sings psalms and rejoices
Despite this most morbid of days
You’d think it be just solemn voices
A time for reflection an prayers
But we celebrate despite the life of the dead
Laugh and get drunk, there’s a buffet for scoffing
The Backwards Inn does a fantastic spread
It’s too late now to dance on the coffin