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You’re Like a Taxi

de Showbread

When we die i bet they'll haul a box into a pile of dirt
nothing in it but a sack of bones
and stuffy tie and shirt
as loved ones wish that we'd get up
and moan "this isn't fair!"
but you and me won't be there.

When i die, whatever you might say,
don't say i'm gone
gone is not the word for someone who finally found his way back home
gone is not the word for someone who finally found his way back home

Gone is not the word for someone who finally found his way back home
Gone is not the word for someone who finally found his way back home

Death, it doesn't scare me thinking that you're somewhere on your way
I can't go on pretending i might never see the day
it's not hard for me to picture
but makes me feel out of place
I hope i'm not afraid when i see you face to face

To some you're like a prison
When they've yet to taste freedom
and maybe you feel bitter
Because Jesus broke your kingdom
Once you were so powerful
and power made you happy
but now you're like a ferry boat
now you're like a taxi

when i die, whatever you might say
don't say i'm gone
gone is not the word for someone who finally found his way back home
gone is not the word for someone who finally found his way back home

gone is not the word for someone who finally found his way back home
gone is not the word for someone who finally found his way back home

gone is not the word for someone who finally found his way back home

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