And when our corpses are six feet under,
I know our bones will find one another.
Rotting away through human decay,
our love is more than a mortal display.
I will take my bouquet from the flowers placed upon the graves.
With this cup, maggots in hand,
may the moon bless our matrimony far below the fleeting world of man.
The souls of the tombstones awaken from their slumber, as we profess our undying love for one another.  
Our spirits will dance among the deceased,
as we are wed,
rotting six feet beneath.