Author: Epitaph Page 3

Until the brakes are turned on time, – Life's throttle-valve shut down. – He works to pilot in the crew – That wears the martyr's crown. – On schedule time, on upper grade – Along the homeward section. – He lands his train in God's roundhouse – The mom of resurrection. – His time is full, no wages docked, – His name on God's pay roll. – And transportation through to Heaven – A free pass for his soul.

Epitaphs

He didn't believe in God; And when he did, they argued.

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Connection reset by peer – He came, he saw, he logged out

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Slip McVey – He might a be here today – But rum, whisky an a bad gun – Put him away.

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She was never meant to be understood, just loved.

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Tired of this eternal buttoning and unbuttoning.

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Here lies the body of Ephraim Wise. Safely tucked between his two wives. One was Tillie and the other Sue. Both were faithful, loyal, and true. By his request in ground that's hilly. His coffin is set tilted toward Tillie.

Epitaphs

His faults are buried with him beneath this stone. His virtues (if he had any) are remembered by his friends.

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The devil slipped in like a weasil – And down to Hell he took old Kezle.

Epitaphs

Jack Lemmon In…

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Here lies John Taggart, of honest fame, of stature low, and a leg lame; content he was with portion small, kept a shop in Wigtown, and that's all.

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… Dentist Brown – Is filling his last cavity.

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Here lies the landlord Tommy Dent – In his last cosy tenement.

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Thorp’s Corpse

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A bird, a man, a loaded gun. No bird, dead man, thy will be done.

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My father and mother were both insane – I inherited the terrible stain. – My grandfather, grandmother, aunts and uncles – Were lunatics all, and yet died of carbuncles.

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Little Johnny had a purple monkey, climbing up a yellow stick, little Johnny licked the purple paint of and it made him deathly sick. They stirred him up with calomel, they tried to move his liver, but all in vain, his little soul was wafted o'er the River.

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Farewell my young companions all. From death's arrest no age is free. Remember this, a warning call. Prepare to follow after me.

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Here he lies, James T. Carson. He blew up his wife and was hung for arson.

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Of him within, nought e'er gratis was had, that you read this so cheap now makes him sad.

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My father and mother were both insane. I inherited the terrible stain. My grandfather, grandmother, Aunts and uncles Were lunatics all And yet died of carbuncles

Epitaphs