£4.88

Your body was found dead in your flat, three months gone and smelling like hell.

They came and took you away, to the morgue downtown, an unhappy place.

Clearing your flat they found £4.88, not much to show for a lonely death.

Always on your own, eternally in death. How sad no one will see you buried, a pauper’s death, the undertaker the only witness at this solemn occasion.

C’mon, c’mon, wake up and shout: “Where’s my lost love? Where are my old mates?”

When you’re gone you’ll be just a corpse, a rotting corpse pushing up daisies.

How sad to be alone especially in death, a forgotten man, thrown away just like the rubbish.