As You Live Is As You Die Poem by Dennis Lange

To hear a fun'ral service done -
How praised is the departed one -
You'd think this earth had never held
A devil, and none ever dwelled
Here in the form of mortal men,
And all were free of any sin.

For burial, the body's cleaned;
So, too, the nastiness is gleaned
By relatives and saddened friends
And through the washer's many spins,
Till reputation's made so pure,
You'd never know was once manure.

It seems that some confusion reigns
Within our sad heart-broken brains.
So when someone has bought the farm,
We think there's been a great reform.
Death means you are not here (you ain't) -
Not that you're suddenly a saint.

So Death gets more than is its due
By those whose lives have been made blue.
When sickle swings that final day,
Death cannot carve all sins away.
Instead Death comes with lock and key
And seals the logs eternally.