It was November, dry and crisp
The priest kept talking with his lisp
The funeral home deserved itself
As pictures of it were on the shelf

Someone kept munching on some chips
Avoiding his teeth, ******* the juice out with his lips
So not to make a noise, keep it a bore
He knew he'd get evil eyes at the dollar store

Everyone was dressed in black,
The bratty kid, the mom, and Jack
The latter man still eating the chips
All Jack could think of is where was the dip

No one was really sobbing, barely a sniffle
Old time's sake was nothing but stifled
No air conditioning, no fan turned on
Jack looked at the fan, seeming fond

T'was a bore.
No one missed her.