The river runs through the lonely wood

    And on the bridge I stand,

I think about my dearly departed,

    Her ashes in my hand.

 

I slowly unscrew the lid from the urn

    And say my last goodbye,

I'm about to sprinkle her liberally,

   When "Stop that!" shouts this guy.

 

"You cannot throw your wife in the water, 

    Though it's her dying wish;

She may have had her heart set on it,

    But spare a thought for the fish.

 

"They've no desire to eat your dead,

   They don't know where she's been;

So go and scatter her somewhere else

   And keep our rivers clean."