Shopping for coffins
There's no way to know
If the grey one is the right one
So I try to move slow.

But mother and sister
And the funeral guy
Are waiting, and your body
Is now drying nigh.

I can't hit the high notes
Wth cold enough blood
For you to hear me
In a vault in the mud.

So I'm shopping for coffins
In a room where you stood
And I'm telling our mother,
"The grey one seems good."

I can't hit the high notes
The way that I should.
And I can't be the person
That at one time I could.

So I'm shopping for coffins,
And they know I won't pay.
So Mom says, "The grey one,"
And we walk away.