Three hundred years and then some,
John Smith was laid to rest,
In an unmarked grave, they laid him down
Not named, not loved, not blessed.
The time has come to raise him
His sleep must henceforth end
John Smith, he has a job to do
Some bridges he must mend
He drank, he cursed, he gambled.
He thieved and dallied with whores
He fell in with the wrong crowd
And racked up debts galore.
Rejected by his kith and kin
He took the crooked path
To Hell he went, and stayed awhile
Not once did he look back
Until the Devil wooed him
And showered him with praise,
With luck, he did not take the bait
But vowed to mend his ways.
And now, John Smith, rejoins us
His spirit lingers long
Above the headstones of those he loved
The family he did wrong
His mission now to make amends
To warn the other sinners
Not drink nor greed nor lust they need
To live life as a winner
If family they have right now
Then they are rich indeed
No man should die alone, he chides
Because of his misdeeds
So, don’t take the crooked path, my friend
When the death bell rings your name
Misery and darkness reign
An eternity of shame
Now his spirit takes his place once more
The graveyard all aglow
The words ‘John Smith’ burst forth in script
Forevermore, his name will show.