Song parody of
Conducting Our Own Funeral
by Eurynome
Here's where you get creative! Use our cool song parody creator to make a totally new musical idea and lyrics for the Conducting Our Own Funeral song by Eurynome.
Simply click on any word to get rhyming words suggestion to use instead of the original ones. You may also remove or alter entire lines if needed — when you're done save your work and share it with our community — have fun!
Weary stones by hundreds winters scolded, so wounded
Still serving the memoirs of the bones beneath
Before us, glum they're gathered
Assembled yet lone among a vast sylvan company
From this backdrop, which we made our pulpit
Deep sermons of solace we bring to the mournfuls
Those past's selves of ours, hovering upon
The open coffins, not unlike wistful ghosts
In a wake for their youth longings
As the rite commence
Led by a somber silence,
An invitation we bring to our hearts
To make the tears of joy and ardor
Belonged to the days of yore
Stronger than the ones we now pour in grief
For what we unawarely became
A stifled start shakes the quiet
That we evoked, absorbed in scorn
Coffins await to be filled
With the old winters vestige
Thoughts and relics from distant ages of ourselves
Times to be praised and greeted
With a worthy burial
A procession of grieved shapes and shovels
Now take place towards the tombs
That claim their guests
Each body faces its own grave
Raising choirs of laments
And a sough of eulogies too
In emotive entwines
Futile mundane prayers
We stand touched
Like statues all carved in pathos
The intimate being of ours
Has answered the obsequies
Giving itself to eternity
Here and forever
It's finally immortalized
Within the latter years
We truly lived
A dismal concert of spadefuls
Giving back the soil to the pits
Brings the last farewell
Slowly we now leave
This overgrown graveyard
Fulfilling the ritual
We'll be waiting for the time
When the ritual of our lives
Shall be fulfilled too
As we'll join this graveyard's undergrowth
Weary stones by hundreds winters scolded, so wounded
Still serving the memoirs of the bones beneath
Before us, glum they're gathered
Assembled yet lone among a vast sylvan company
From this backdrop, which we made our pulpit
Deep sermons of solace we bring to the mournfuls
Those past's selves of ours, hovering upon
The open coffins, not unlike wistful ghosts
In a wake for their youth longings
As the rite commence
Led by a somber silence,
An invitation we bring to our hearts
To make the tears of joy and ardor
Belonged to the days of yore
Stronger than the ones we now pour in grief
For what we unawarely became
A stifled start shakes the quiet
That we evoked, absorbed in scorn
Coffins await to be filled
With the old winters vestige
Thoughts and relics from distant ages of ourselves
Times to be praised and greeted
With a worthy burial
A procession of grieved shapes and shovels
Now take place towards the tombs
That claim their guests
Each body faces its own grave
Raising choirs of laments
And a sough of eulogies too
In emotive entwines
Futile mundane prayers
We stand touched
Like statues all carved in pathos
The intimate being of ours
Has answered the obsequies
Giving itself to eternity
Here and forever
It's finally immortalized
Within the latter years
We truly lived
A dismal concert of spadefuls
Giving back the soil to the pits
Brings the last farewell
Slowly we now leave
This overgrown graveyard
Fulfilling the ritual
We'll be waiting for the time
When the ritual of our lives
Shall be fulfilled too
As we'll join this graveyard's undergrowth
