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old man gloom - something for the mrs. lyrics

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for the next war we shall bury the dead in cellophane.
the host shall come packaged in every k-ration.
the host shall come packaged in every k-ration.
every man shall be provided with a small, but perfect, archbishop spellman; which shall be self-inflatable,
courtesy of air reduction.

(open close previous open close)
you don’t need to repeat this.
there is not any ceremony anymore.
everyone is gone and you say this out loud to yourself.
you are alone at the time, and the time now is always.
always was a word you used in promises.
it is valueless.

all officers, warrant officers, and enlisted men, will be provided with a copy with their own true love, which they will never see again, and all these copies will be returnable through the proper channel.

- old man gloom

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