When I die, don’t mourn my shell,
It’s done it’s job, it’s served me well,
Don’t let’s it’s ending cause you strife,
Because we give our dead to life.

Please celebrate, drink deep, sing songs,
My shell has worked for far too long,
Please make a feast, break out the loaves,
We give our dead to the orchards and the groves,

Don’t lock my shell up in a box,
Why does it need so many locks?
Don’t rearrange me with a knife,
When we should give our death to life.

Just throw my body in the ground,
Pack the dirt in tight, let it surround,
And smoke yourselves a final clove,
We give our dead to the orchards and the groves.

And when I’m buried play the fife,
and celebrate in droves,
We give our dead to life,
We give our dead to the orchards and the groves.

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