Someday they'll cut you open
with a mark on your chest in the shape of a Y
They'll see the marks on your insides
They'll know how you lived and how you died;
everything you tried so hard to hide
They'll find the marks I left behind
I just hope that some of the marks are mine
Someday they'll lower you down
underground in the earth beneath my feet,
or lay you in a bed made of concrete;
visiting with those you left behind
'till the day they can lay by your side