Shopping for coffins   There's no way to know   If the grey one is the right one   So I try to move slow.      But mother and sister    And the funeral guy   Are waiting, and your body   Is now drying nigh.      I can't hit the high notes    Wth cold enough blood   For you to hear me   In a vault in the mud.      So I'm shopping for coffins   In a room where you stood   And I'm telling our mother,   "The grey one seems good."      I can't hit the high notes   The way that I should.   And I can't be the person   That at one time I could.      So I'm shopping for coffins,   And they know I won't pay.   So Mom says, "The grey one,"   And we walk away.