I want to die quite naked
alone and fast asleep
a pillow underneath my head
a sheet about my feet.
I want to hear the angels
altogether cry
'It wasn't indigestion,
t'was a full blown MI;
But what of that, it's over-
no matter now, you're here;
so find yourself a chair somewhere
and grab yourself a beer.'
This song is not so lengthy
and it's certainly not so deep-
Auden would probably howl
Rilke would probably weep,
But I want to die in bed, now,
it's quite the comfiest place
with the covers pulled up all the way
and a smile on my face.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem