Rock of Ages

Holding back the tears  
of the posthole diggers
dripping on the oak  
 
with a taste of formaldehyde  
for my sweet tooth  
 
it's just as well  
could have been pine  
chopping with the axe  
 
lowering the box  
a place for me to sleep  
where bugs are running  
 
singing, "Rock of Ages"  
with lips Botox  
squirming with worms  
 
listening for saints to come in  
anointing my chin  
with wages on sin  
 
with a taste of formaldehyde  
for my sweet tooth