Consider well this cross I bear:
I don't like babes who breathe the air.
You say she's warm, and very giving?
I like them cold, no longer living.
A fashion model, tall and proud?
Fine, if bundled in a shroud.
A tart who makes love well and often?
What's the address of her coffin?
Her scent is floral, fresh as May?
No thank you. I prefer decay.
You see the problems that I face?
My coming out would bring disgrace.
I've suffered long, but I'm no fool.
I'll go to mortuary school.
I'll study hard, get my degree,
An undertaker I shall be!
And then I'll have Suzanne or Mabel
Nude on my embalming table.
I'll offer her a loving tryst;
The odds are good she won't resist.
And thus, an endless stream of fillies,
Who might give someone else the willies,
Can warm my heart and spark my lust.
One final fling, before they're dust.
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