If on some cold, dreary day a virus takes my breath away, please burn me up and say a prayer then toss my ashes in the air.
My final wish I may regret and I’ll be damned, or so you’ll fret, but when to dust I do return don’t let it be just to an urn.
Do this for me, darlin’ please, just send me off into the breeze so I can float off through the sky and come to rest when time goes by.
I want to fall to Earth again upon a madman’s head so when he rants and raves above the din he chokes on me as he breathes in.
The Smith Compound 