The Gravedigger

I am a gravedigger, a digger of graves, I know my clay
I know in my water, I know in my blood, I know in my bones
That you will never believe in the things I am going to say
Till you are listening in to a funeral all of your own
There are uncles and aunties and nieces and nephews and sisters-in-law
A family swarms with them, they teem, they are thicker than flies
Sisters and brothers and cousins and aunties and daughters galore
The only time when all of them meet is when one of them dies
At the grave, at the grave, at the family, family grave
The putting of the people in the ground
There are days, days when I shake my shovel at the sky
Oh there are days, there are days it gets you down, down, down
Shovel at the sky, it gets you down
I see many different fashions of mourning, both fancy and plain
There are those who go very white and stand there aghast and just gawp
They cannot manage to cry, and there's others who cannot refrain
Willy-nilly they bellow and howl at the drop of a corpse
They sit in the chapel and whisper and meditate over the stiff
They never speak ill of him, especially if he was close
But what a good family man, and a wonderful friend, even if
He was a palpable pain in the arse and he died of a dose
At the grave, at the grave, at the family, family grave
The putting of the people in the ground
Some with no one there - at least, just a policeman and a priest
There are days, oh there are days it gets you down, down, down
Policeman and a priest, it gets you down
Then there are those of course who turn up and can then hardly wait
For the vicar to stop and the coffin to drop and the sobbing subside
And then they are barely a blur as they sprint for the cemetery gates
To go get their hands on the money, the food, or the widow's backside
There are one or two dos turn out disappointingly in the extreme
Where the booze is rough and the grub is duff and no flowers at all
And the mother embarrasses you with a sudden hysterical scream
Where the coffin you came to see off is pathetically small
At the grave, at the grave, at the family, family grave
The putting of the people in the ground
In a whisper often I say good luck, my friend, goodbye
There are days, oh there are days it gets you down, down, down
Good luck, my friend, goodbye, it gets you down
They do the round of the family faces and pay their respects
We'll have to be going, how nice, how sad, and thanking you
They are studying form and weighing up who it is going to be next
To go under the slab, whose turn it is next to pay for the do
I am a grave-digger, a digger of graves, I know my clay
I know in my water, I know in my blood, I know in my bones
That you will never believe in the things I am going to say
Till you are listening in to a funeral all of your own
At the grave, at the grave, at the family, family grave
The putting of the people in the ground
There are days, days when I shake my shovel at the sky
Oh there are days, oh there are days it gets you down, down, down
Shovel at the sky, it gets you down