I don’t want to go in a puff of smoke.
I’m keen to leave on my terms.
I don’t want to end up scattered ash.
I want to feed the beetles and worms.

Put my name on a bench by the grave.
So my friends can sit there and wonder.
If I’m still all skin and bone,
Six weeks after being put under.

It will be nice to think I’m giving back
By nourishing our lovely English soil.
Maybe eventually I’ll turn to hydrogen,
Which is much more preferable than oil.

I don’t at all want to be cremated.
I want you to bury me when I die
I’d much prefer a visit to my grave,
After you’ve kissed my ass goodbye.