I don’t care if they’re young or old
As long as they are stiff. And cold.
I never cause them any pain,
And if I do, they don’t complain.
They lie immobile on the slab,
I climb on top and have a grab,
Then when I’ve roused myself a bit,
I get stuck in, a perfect fit
Most of the time.
I was lucky to get this job,
Although it isn’t popular,
No bonus, no company car,
You get one or two little perks,
It isn’t hard or tiring work,
And even when you’re on your own
You’re never really quite alone.
Stop when you like and have a chat,
They never shout or answer back,
And when the doctor’s not about,
And the chief mortician’s gone out,
I find one that’s been kept on ice,
Give her the works, and oh, that’s nice,
Much better than a living girl.
I can do anything I please,
Kiss her lips, give her tits a squeeze,
Dog fashion or one up the back,
Right in her mouth or in her crack,
Lying on top or by her side,
Whichever way, I’m satisfied.
Between here and the horsehead nebula
There’s nothing in this universe like necrophilia.
I might pack it in eventually though;
After a while it’s dead boring.
[The above was first published in Scatoligicus Eroticum, February 1993.]
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