A little dog will lead the way
Behind him buskers do ballet
A rumba band begins to play
My funeral is underway

St. Lucy follows with the band
She carries with her in her hand
A plate that holds her eyeballs and
Directions to the Promised Land

Some teenagers have found some floats
Constructed out of corn and oats
They're pulled by teams of purple shoats
With garlic bulbs around their throats

An Angel falls out of the sky
Fellini looks him in the eye
While Jacob pokes him in the thigh
The Angel tells another lie

Festoons align the thoroughfare
The casket sits within the square
While thousands dance to the Lord's Prayer
A banner reads "Devil May Care"

The motorcade in silhouette
Encroaches on the alphabet
The Letter S is heavy set
She wrestles with the majorette

St. Agnes stands there in repose
While Roman soldiers tear her clothes
Let sinners watch as her hair grows
To cover her down to her toes

Into the scene the Mayor walks
In headdress feathers of peacocks
He holds a golden tinderbox
Within it sleeps the winged-ox

The orphans sample Novocaine
They teach new tricks to old Boatswain
A sound turns them to cellophane
A Requiem played by Coltrane

Bob Dylan makes his presence known
He fiddles with the microphone
He warns that God's our chaperone
He drinks some milk and then goes home

Lolita rides the carousel
The rumba band plans to rebel
The fire engines ring the bell
A harbinger to Rube Waddell

The radar screen is on the fritz
The sky is crossed with Messerschmitts
In each cockpit a strumpet sits
'Sorrows of Werther' in her mitts

A trumpet blares to wake the dead
They rise from oceans overhead
They mingle with the underfed
The rest is better left unsaid

Amorphous spirits kiss racoons
They speak in comicbook balloons
While Lucy starts to lick the wounds
Of pelicans in tablespoons

Pallbearers crowd the open bar
Consuming pints of pinot noir
Around the casket widows spar
As Hendrix burns his last guitar

The winged-ox wakes from his dream
And eats the Mayor's color scheme
The little dog lets out a scream
The bourgeoisie begin to gleam

The muses have a fashion show
Calliope dressed as a schmo
The judges are all Navajo
Some wonder if it's apropos

The addlepated libertine
Contorts while on the trampoline
His former wife Miss Josephine
Accompanies on tambourine

Art Pepper says by telegraph
He can't afford a fatted-calf
And just to have the final laugh
Mark Twain erased my epitaph

Copyright © 1999 Turtle Noises Music