Like a rotting corpse
you follow me
and I without a word
step carefully
through damp woods
far enough from the freeway
where you can't hear cars

and I'll find a place
to rest and begin to dig
pressing a spade
in the soft earth
but the smell of turned soil
simply can't compare

when I am deep enough
I beckon you to the edge
and you only groan a little
as my Red Wing finds you
and there is no ceremony here
when the fresh dirt
starts to fill you in

and by the time I find the freeway
as the sun goes down
The stench has cleared my nostrils
and I can hardly even remember you
dead or alive or at all