Gothic moments in my spare time allow me to write such things...
|Never laugh when a ghost goes by—
It may be your turn next to die.
They wrap you up in a big white sheet
And throw you down, six feet deep.
All goes well for a week or two,
Then things start happening; all is new.
Worms crawl in and worms crawl out,
And ants play ping-pong on your snout.
One worm that's not quite so shy
Crawls in one ear and out one eye,
Till your blood turns to a sickery green
And oozes out like Devonshire cream.