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lyrics
Sitting in the office
Thinking of the coffins that come and go
They are bought and sold again
Black lacquered maple
Obituaries stapled to bulletin boards that read "welcome aboard my friends"
The moss and the rotten flowers
The punch the turns it turns too sour
The casket of the hour causes faces to cower and fails to empower
Oh, this would never do of course
We must be true, true to the law that sprung them from their stables
And cut them down from their cables
Oh my Great Aunt Cindy, she had an open casket
And I was crying 'cause her mouth was all crooked now
Saints and lightning bolts
Save me from the hole
I got struck again and it's time to begin again
But my cousin he just cracked
And when his elevator went to the top
Oh how we swore how we'd never come down
But there's just no place in this business for clowns
This would never do of course
We must be true, true to the law
That sprung them from their stables
And cut them down from their cables
And brought them here to these hallowed halls
Where with the hands of an artist they are embalmed
If ever a blemish or a waxy finish should taint the star of the hour
Oh the life of an undertaker
I would give it all up to be
If ever a blemish or a waxy finish
Should taint the star of the hour
Moss and the rotten flowers
The punch that turns, it turns too sour
This would never do of course
We must be true true to the law
That spring them from their stables
And cut them down from their cables
And brought them here to these hallowed halls
Where with the hand of an artist they are embalmed
Moss and the rotten flowers
The punch that turns it turns to sour
This would never do of course
We must must be true, true to the law