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The Merry Gravedigger

The day you’re born you start to die

So a merry digger of graves am I

I dig the earth with a rusty spade

Where ancient oak make pools of shade


I see the priest and the undertaker

And the boy in the box go to meet his maker

Family and friends adorned in black

I just smile and turn my back


Women wail and men console

I light a smoke and dig my hole

‘He died too young’ they always say

Not for me if I get paid


You’ve seen this show a hundred times

Headstones, grass and cars in lines

I’m the one you never see

I’ll look for you if you look for me

© Michael Worthington Music 1996

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