By: Wayne Brown
Who is that outside my door with a knock that I abhor?
Then came the reply, “the taxman,” silence; nothing more
He has come for my last dime; the last penny to my name
My kin will having nothing but to hang their heads in shame
Who is that outside my door who steps upon my land?
Why it is the lowly bill collector with his outstretched hand
Yea have come a bit too late my friend there is none left to take
The greedy tax collector took it all along with my estate
Who is that outside my door whose voice I do not favor
The neigh of the horse gives him away, it is the undertaker
So you have come for me as I lay here in my dying bed
You’ve come to take my body once my soul has been shed?
Who makes that awful noise and raises such a clamor
Why it is the casket maker working with saw and hammer
Mine is made of green pine and still wet with a gummy sap
Is this the best that one can do for such a long eternal nap?
Who taps upon my casket lid and wants to come inside?
Who would interrupt me on my long eternal ride?
Why only Satan would show up at such an unwelcome time
Only Satan would show up now, with my soul in mind
Does one not get to talk to God before descending into fires
Does one not get a chance to repent before the soul retires?
I never thought it would be this way, everyone collecting their due
And me, I’m just a lost burning soul, dumped onto Satan’s crew
I guess I went about it all wrong; missed the point all the way
I guess I missed it so badly there was nothing left to say
No St. Peter, no Pearly Gates, no golden halo upon my head
No angelic wings, just flames and fire will be mine instead
If I had it to do over, I would probably change a thing or two
I might have tried a little harder to stay off the Devil’s crew
But, it is whatever it was to start; no “do over,” will sell
Now all I’ve left is to play my part and fan the flames of Hell
©Copyright WBrown2011. All Rights Reserved.
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