When he died, he was wrapped up in paper
and stuck in a gold-painted box.
They mumbled some prayers, and they left him
sealed in by a big pile of rocks.
As centuries passed he lay rotting
in his desolate cavern of stones,
in the dullness and dampness and darkness,
with the snakes snaking over his bones.
And his gold got all tarnished and rusty
or was stolen by thieves in a raid.
Then his body was found by explorers
to be dug up and tagged and displayed.
So when, one strange day, he awakens,
I can tell you what he’s gonna do:
He’ll storm around taking his vengeance—
I mean, come on, wouldn’t you?