Pagan ME King When I fall into the breath death, Do not strip forest flesh to Wrap my leftovers in dirt dry timber, Nor circle clotted weary stones to paint me ???Christian values??? that, alive, I refused. Do not bury me in hallowed ground beside some, Special sunny day oak (for I shan't grow an inch) And do not float me out to sea as bait Or drop me from heights I should Never have dared to climb. Instead, enshrine my proudest moment; Two backward friends and a railway Car park, photograph my manhood, (Suitably enlarged) so all mankind Might truely morn my loss, Then strip the parts you want from me; Use the rest to salt your paths, Or to steam your baths let my matter Be a mountain upon Mars, a cake in Stepps, Humble or great, let it breath, I have no claim. And allow my children room to learn. To do the things I most disaproved. Marry again to most unsuitable men, And shock society by bypassing ???grief??? Flicking on my night of deliverance, brocheures, Advertising breaks in New York, Hawaii, Tenerief Above all, wear your life ragged at the edges, Spit whisky, Lamada, wolf whistle for me Save your solemneity and respect for the births And see me off with tequila, a marching band and bonfire; Growing bloody and limp upon the sunset, just Above all else, don't give me a decent burial.