They’ll find it on a tombstone

With a little epitaph

The twisted twin of Seikilos

Reanimated wrath.

Or they’ll find it in the coffin

Suited up and next to me

As my shriveled inner organs

Rot away in misery.

Put a brick upon me when I go

So I, a little liar,

May rest the way a peasant church

Would bury a vampire.

No bloodlust and no violence

Did I commit in life

Unlike the bat-fanged beasts of yore

No such infectious strife

But guilt befalls me, shame confines me

Spluttering and coughing

If I die, they’ll find the lie:

They’ll find it in the coffin.