by Liz Marshall and Andy Curtis
They’ve cut the grass in the graveyard
The loose grass is lying around
The corpses have less insulation
But they don't feel the cold underground
They’ve cut the grass in the graveyard
The yellowing stubble shows through
I reckon it looks more untidy
But gardeners need something to do
They’ve cut the grass in the graveyard
At a stroke they have cut down the crop
So the bodies below in their coffins
Are that little bit nearer the top.
They’ve cut the grass in the graveyard
It's a beautiful summery smell
It's a scent that reminds me of heaven
Though most will be rotting in hell.
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