There's nothing waiting when I die
I ain't playing for no reward
And you ain't that good a guy
Says the binman for the Lord
I'm swept out with the rag and bones
Old catchphrases and cellular phones
I think I'll skip the morning tea
My stomach clings to purgatory
Still it's nice you asking me
As I'm sweating through your sheets
To be tossed out in the crippled bird streets
In a forest of slow moving feet
You won't be waiting when I'm done
Dribbling my gin and juice
When I decide this shit ain't fun
Or when I firmly cook my goose
To be thrown out in the crying rain
With the dirtbags and the barely sane
(We degenerate the same)