Just slowly hold your breath,
Then fake your own death,
By using a foolproof plot,
Tricking everyone on the spot,
Confusing the supernatural,
With a boring script for your funeral,
Filled with synthetic flowers,
And a pretentious bunch of mourners,
Who can reenact the melodrama,
Without breaking their persona.
You can scribble your own prayers,
And rearrange all the chairs,
As if they're watching a movie flop,
Or a bomb about to be dropped,
Their faces painting either sorrow,
Or the joy of a free desperado
You can lace the refreshments,
With a dash of resentment,
And hire a clown to spill ***** jokes,
To make them laugh until they choke.
Enjoy the show of your grand design,
As both friends and enemies fall in line.