The Obits 

The part about me and my high school buddies is true – it’s how we passed the time before school started each morning. Our paperboy friend brought in the day’s paper, and we bet on how many times each term for dying was used in that day’s obits. Mooning the ogre. It’s a whole lot more real these days. 

 

Drinking my morning coffee, scanning through the news 

Checking out Dear Abby, for advice that I can’t use 

But it never seems to fail that the obits catch my eye 

I read enough to tell me when each one died and why 

And I don’t know a one, and I wonder why I care 

Must be reassurance buried somewhere deep in there 

If they did something stupid, or reached a ripe old age 

Then I know I’ll be okay

 

As cynics back in high school, my friends and I would try 

To count the ways the obits said that each poor soul had died 

Well, some just died; some passed away; some entered into rest 

But the ones that flew into the arms of Jesus were the best 

That’s when it dawned on me that no one went to hell 

As if the folks that wrote those things had any way to tell 

Of course, that means that heaven must be crowded anyway 

So I know, either way, I’ll be okay 

 

I read the obits, that’s right, the obits 

The news is more depressing, strange as that may seem 

But tales of the departed, with their wild hyperbole 

That’s the place I go to find security oh oh oh 

 

I think as I get older, assuming I’m still here 

I’ll still use the obits to calm those creeping fears 

But then, I’ll read them slower, so I can do the math 

To know which ones were older, or younger when they passed 

As long as more are older, my mind will be at rest 

But as soon as more are younger, that will put me to the test 

Every ounce of my denial I’ll have to tap each day 

Just to know, I’ll be okay 

 

I read the obits, that’s right, the obits 

The news is more depressing, strange as that may seem 

But tales of the departed, with their wild hyperbole 

That’s the place I go to find security oh oh oh 

 

I read the obits, that’s right, the obits 

When I want something real, I don’t bother with TV 

Behind the ads for hearing aids and plastic surgery 

That’s the place I go to find reality oh oh oh 

In the obits