A chariot of fire finished in brass
The streets lined with mourners
Come to see you pass
Crowding street corners

The stallions brought you here
Your final drive
Before you disappear
The band comes alive

The local brigade, a battalion
Come to see you off with a salute
All with your same medallion
Then there's me in my two-piece suit

The priest spoke of you
The things you did, the things you said
But you never met, never knew
About the farm or the sofa bed

I write this now in anger
That I never asked all the things
You will never answer
Now the fat lady sings