Afterlife

when your corpse no longer groans
they'll suck the marrow from your bones
and milk your loved ones' lachrymal
for lovely plot or fancy pall
a golden box to house your bod
under rock and mud and sod
for even dead you make good cents
to pay for bread and meat and rent

headstone, tent, and preacher's tip
all fees to fund this final trip
and someone needs to dig the hole
and trim the grass, and kill the moles
there's lawyer's fees and taxes yet
and digitized certificates
so never feel you're worthless, son
you feed the kitty, here or gone