My smaller selves down the sewer somewhere under Berkeley, Cincinnati, or on tour (Airplane rear and hotel lobby ladies' rooms beware) Is these leave leaves bagged up in plastic,never to decompose or fertilize. When my balls are finally big enough to do it, I don't want no casket, no saddle no see-through plastic mask. And when I finally do it I want to do the dirt like the dead leaves do. And if you do leave the Earth when the Earth leaves you, cold and hard as a marble table top with nothing on top, there's no hip hip hop hurray, heaping heaven golden bone gateway, no bright confetti high-step march tickertape parade.