Free List of the Lost by Morrissey

the mourners mourned in the way that mourners must mourn in fear of not seeming to genuinely mourn. Margo candidly cried running tears for all – of past, present and future.
    â€œHe isn’t in that box, is he?” sobbed Justy; “how could he be?” he trailed away.
    â€œLedger’s?” came Ezra’s brave suggestion, and he pointed to the cemetery gates in the southerly corner of the plot.
    â€œFirst in no pay?” Nails felt rejuvenated, and with a ferocious tear they pushed each other away from their fierce embrace and they bolted manically through, over and across; around all of the variously sized stones and monuments that blocked their dash to the southerly gates; hurdle after hurdle, legs wide and sprawled and full of kangaroo sideways swerves through the Jewish section, whilst galloping even faster across the Polish Garden and laughing all the while as faster and faster went the trio, from gallop to glide, their neatly solemn suits askew and awry with messy devilment; Ezra nosing ahead, Justy of yelps and fearful moans as each stone tablet varied in jutting awkwardness, with some to maneuver around and some to breeze above … “Yeeeey!” came Nails with high-flying gusto … dodging the Sacred Heart, leap-frogging St. Francis, crashing down onto unvisited graves of unwedded maidens, kicking up soil and the tish-tosh knick-knacks of Gone but not forgotten, always in our hearts, just a whisper away, Loving Brother, taken too soon, World’s Best Grandma, reunited in heaven, Our Little Angel … uncle unmarried unwanted and gone, the stampede paid no heed to respectful consideration as depleted bouquets flicked wildly under kicks, and our three became lost tearaway children turning anger into Benylin adrenalin … through the gates and through main-street traffic lanes, woo-hooing their illegalities and delighted stupidities of funeral fun … why always remain in control? Who’s to say what should or should not lift the spirits? Whoever put the pain in painting had also put the fun in funeral. But why always stand there, zombified, awaiting life’s WALK sign? Are you now incapable of walking unless instructed? Harrieee … Harrieee … Harri underground whilst we remain above, and here is an afternoon to waste as we’d wish! And soaked we shall be at Ledger’s, where ties are removed like shackles of subjugation and the bottles line up and the whiskey doesn’t touch the sides as it sinks as today’s thinking man’s drink.
    Later that night our trio lie on college towels sprawled across tiled floor as gentle jets of water spray like Japanese rain on the huddled far-gone three in the otherwise deserted after-hours sigh of the college locker rooms; bombed and smashed they lay on their backs, their skunk-drunk faces rising upwards and into the falling spray, a long necklace of wartime bombs shelling the children of the sleeping city. Shut up hearts sprang open as the wide and steamy jet-stream managed to bounce off all three faces as they lay back, shoulder to shoulder, boulder to boulder, their clothes abandoned in single-file brotherhood trail from doorway to shower-head. “I wouldn’t change me for the woooorld,” started Nails in a singsong outcry … “ Who disturbs my peace?” clamors Justy … “Me does!” splits Nails’ throat … “You must be suck-out-loud buzzed … and I mean that in the most caring way of course,” is a waul of a squall from Ezra … “Youze cookin’ with gas!” yelps yappy Nails … “God will repay me as he always does …” carries on Ezra … “Well, he doesn’t repay me … still driving that El Camino” … “You just said you wouldn’t change you for the world,” blurts Ezra, and the silliness goes on. “I’d kiss my own little face if I could. This thankful bodily creation