You’re Like a Taxi

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…
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 felt 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