The grave digger’s promise made
After each new hole he dug,
He’d lay down his shovel, pick and spade
And cross himself with a grunt and shrug.
Above the hole a silent vow,
Every time always the same,
The Lord he’d ask, “Is it my turn now
Or has this hole another’s name?”
And to date I must report,
The grave digger has walked away,
For death still he’s come up short
And digging there’ll be another day.
But still a promise he has made,
To the good Lord, he’s done his bit,
And in the next life he’s relayed,
“I ain’t grave digging, I don’t give a shit!”
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