Reflecting on life, on becoming a wife
Constraints of a marriage
That will end in a carriage
And me in the back boxed in
Awaiting the ground all damp and brown
A coffin with flowers atop
Flowers not in the ground growing,
But, dying and withering along with the cadaver
Already dead, already going off.

Do you think of the body in the box?
Do you reflect on a life that is lost?
Or do you just turn up on the day
Stare at the display, and know sooner than you think
It'll be you in a box, full of stink?