To Be Read Out At My Funeral

I wonder, despite that I know it's not right,
What, to ease my passing, the world will do,
Fire singes; I refuse to be burned just because it's trite,
Besides, I'd be mortified if I turned to goo,
Yes, I know that it's no great feat,
To give up the ghost and lose faith in humanity,
When you're sitting, body-less, on a parapet somewhere,
Drowning the fools in the crematory in biting profanity,
The fat, self-righteous priest, with his words and cipher,
That escape me in life, in death would irk me further!

Dare I, a coffin, silently inhabit?
Where, in claustrophobia, I might find it crude;
Well, I know you'd think I'd be free from my corpse,
But, really I doubt even my soul might walk through wood!
If you believe that souls can fly, I'm sorry I doubt by will,
'Cause if ever in life I needed wings,
In death that I might need to fly,the odds seem longer still,
And yes, I'll hold fast till the fat lady sings,
That I'll be darned if I laid eyes on heaven,
And Hell, if hell exists!

So, as King Arthur, with sword and armour,
I wouldn't mind being burnt at sea;
But with Global warming and confused ecology,
I wouldn't want to take sea-life down with me!
And yes, to meet Davy Jones or Bill Nighy,
(Whichever he may be),
Would be an honour, and to take it further,
Jack Sparrow may share a locker with me!
But I doubt I'd have the funds to cover the cost,
Of expert archers firing arrows to the sea,
A signal in case I'm lost!

And in the confusion and the aftermath,
(And yes I borrow these lines from a talented band);
You know you are my signal fire,
That will burn on me forever, then you will understand,
Why I won't mind if even my ashes be condemned by decree,
'Cause really it's just a song by Porcupine Tree,
As long as I find my way to your Blackest Eyes,
'Cause that's where I know I will really be free!