Dead

The poet is dead It's me and my friends At a funeral And we're not crying Clowns dressed as hippies are dancing around Playing little trumpets and a bass drum around The priest doesn't know what to say You can tell someone's on cocaine I've been in this place when I was young Riding my bike when I was young Hearing a voice crackle in my head Hearing a voice say, "You're not..." (Dead, dead, dead, dead) The poet is dead (Dead, dead, dead, dead) It's me and my friends (Dead, dead, dead, dead) At a funeral We're not crying Dead, dead, dead, dead Dead, dead, dead, dead Dead, dead, dead, dead Dead, dead, dead, dead I've been in this place when I was young Riding my bike when I was young Hearing a voice crackle in my head Hearing a voice say, "You're not dead" I've been in this place when I was young Riding my bike when I was young Hearing a voice crackle in my head Hearing a voice say–