Why should the dead profit from the dead  Only to continue a pattern of monetary gain  I had no control over my introduction  Into this sphere of dread  They cannot tamper with my body  Without evidence or a name    They have been plotting for my plot  Those considered the mystery men  Awaiting to possess the priceable rot  No matter how detestable the cadaver therein    I do not want them to own me  In my precious instance of transformation  Nor the ground they plan to seed me in  Just for business accumulation    My tomb will be a dank, desolate cave  In which my bones will be enslaved  Improper procedure, this-my chosen grave  No roses of respect  Nor ashes to be saved