I Think I'm Dead

I think I’m dead, I think I’m dead To be honest i would rather breathe instead I suspect that I have died / I smell formaldehyde Oh Lord in heaven / I think I’m dead I look around me, what do I see? Six boards of pine, satin lined, and atrophy Oh please forget me, try not to laugh I hope that is my marble epitaph I think I’m dead, I think I’m dead I am resting underground in my dirt bed My hands they are so cold / I have stopped growing old Oh my sweet Jesus, I think I’m dead Goodbye, goodbye!