When I die it will not be by Hospice
or a Mugging in the Dark
Death will be by
Floating Out to Sea
and Getting Eaten by a Shark
And when my little tootsies are
washed up on the shore
you will know your little
darling is alive no more
You might be sad
But maybe not
All that will be left of me
will be a place to put
my socks
So think fondly of me
as one thinks so fondly
of wives after they decompose
And you can say
the last I ever saw of her
was her feet and toes
