The Letter

You left a letter.
It was meant to be thrown away,
Not read out loud in a smoky bar.
The waiter said
We could only smoke outside.
I knew that this would piss you off to no extent
So I went back in to the back of the room.
I read and smoked my cigarette.
Your picture's past
And not so present hung for all to see.
You took me to the prom.
You held my arm.
We even danced a little.
Your picture's past
And not so present hung for all to see.
You were metal.
I was goth.
And still we danced a little.
It's not your birthday; it's your funeral.
What a shame,
'Cause the gang's all here and we're toasting your name.
It's not your birthday; it's your funeral.
What a shame,
'Cause the gang's all here and we're toasting your name.
The 'understatement of the year' award goes to you,
'Cause the last thing that you said to me was:
"Hey, I'll see you later."
You walked me home just like you always did when we were kids,
A perfect end to good old friends.
Yeah, i'll see you later.
It's not your birthday; it's your funeral.
What a shame.
'Cause the gang's all here and we're toasting your name.
It's not your birthday; it's your funeral.
What a goddamn shame.
'Cause the gang's all here and we're toasting your name.