Probably Something Cliche

We're the Punchline to a Joke That They Won't Let us in On

Funeral For A Stranger (1)

I feel a little bit sick

So please come take your pick

At all the stuff I left behind

While my thoughts rot away with time

I don't feel quite right

My eyes wander in the night

The grim reaper is gonna come while I'm young

The grim reaper is gonna kill me for fun

So all my friends will gather around the grave

Recalling someone else's smile, but calling it mine and me brave

But thinking of all the stupid things I've ever done

All the words I couldn't take back even with a gun

No time to correct

Nothing else to recollect

My thoughts rot away as they forget who I was

My funeral will be filled with people my family doesn't know

And friends who never knew the family of that dumb zero

Who died and who's coffin is filling up the lot

Of some other sick dude who didn't die quick enough

And my body will look a lot different dead

Because I can't make a new mistake if there's nothing else to be said

And all my friends will gather around the headstone

Say, "oops, I forgot to buy another rose"

To place at what would be my feet

But now its fertilizer for the weeds

That grow really really tall

Cause no one cares at all

I'm another name in the lot

A stray sentence in the book that didn't fit with the plot

And because I died so young

There are no heirlooms left behind

Maybe they will find my words

But they'll never find the time

Red Giants (2)

Shining pentagrams in the sky

More than the grains of sand they wait to die

In a billion years they fade away

A long time here, but a blink of an eye in space

And the sun will bloat and turn Earth to hell

In a billion years, and we can tell

That it'll all be gone, we'll be without a trace

Less than dust floating through an empty space

And we're of the dirt

And the dirt is of the stars