I've been driving this flaming hearse
All through the nighttime fog
Immersed in endless thought
And all that I've done wrong
We chug through alleyways
Rattling across Dupont Street
With you in the casket
Rolling all along
And the storm roars on
Into an apprehensive dawn.
A suspended gong
Your bones are jagged as prongs.
There's a clicking in the engine
And a murmuring so soft
It's faint and lingering
From your body as it rots
A spiritual malfunctioning
A break in the machine
And god the mad mechanic
Has a humour so obscene
Soon we'll be tucked away
Safe inside church pews
Praying to window stains
For your soul to come to
But this is a divine comedy
And one without an ending
And so all those evocations
Fall short as you're ascending
Before the almighty judge
And the jury of the cursed
You and me keep driving
In this flaming hearse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem