'Pushing up daisies' is where I now am,
Slipped on the ice and I fell on my 'can',
Drove a Zamboni for each hockey game,
Now that I'm dead, it will not be the same.
Ice will not form
here; it's hotter than hell,
Stuck in this place and it's here I will dwell,
Dreaming of hockey and thinking of ice,
Just one more face-off would really be nice.
Eating a hotdog and
drinking a beer,
Watching my team as they score while I cheer,
"Wayne makes a shot and the crowd is going wild!",
I have loved hockey since I was a child.
Now it is over and
here I am, dead,
Death without hockey is something I dread,
Dying don't scare me, ain't nothing to fear,
Wish we had hockey; we'd play it down here.
They'd be "The
Devils" and we'd be "The Saints",
Skating on brimstone, our only complaint,
Trying for body-checks, going berserk,
We're only spirits and it will not work.
So I just lie here
with nothing to do,
Dreaming of hockey and feeling so blue,
Eternity waits, bidding hockey farewell,
This is not Heaven; it's hockey-fans' Hell.
by
David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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