If you just read this, my dear,
that does mean I’m no more here.
My mouth won’t speak, your eye’s your ear,
‘cause I am just a message mere.
I may’ve been killed by a spear,
I may’ve died while hunting deer.
I may’ve drowned in a pint of beer,
or it may’ve been just one chance sheer.
That matters not, but now hear,
just before you shed first tear:
I’d never known the end was near,
until it kicked my foolish rear.
When she comes, it may go queer,
though, my friend, do have no fear.
You will just take off all your gear,
and then we’ll meet, so up you cheer.
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