So it's late and there you are at the end of the room,
Next to a photograph of you before
Prozac pillows smothered you in their dark spring bloom—
a downy sleep apnea for a waiting tomb.

Take off that funeral dress,
It isn't like you to overdress.
Who are you trying to depress,
When you know that I love you nonetheless?

Your shroud of white lace and wisteria
Makes dying in my arms anesthesia—
Our capitulating hysteria.
Into the hereafter: our dark utopia.

Take off that funeral dress,
Who are you trying to impress?
In the absence of my caress
Know that I love you nonetheless.

All the décor gaudy like it's Christian Dior,
But it's only you that I darkly adore.
I'm Edgar Allan to your wilted Lenore.
Un bel amour, allé à une belle mort!

Take off that funeral dress,
You know that it causes me distress.
What do you want me to profess,
When you know that I love you nonetheless?
Take off that funeral dress,
Who are you trying to impress?
In the absence of my caress
Know that I love you nonetheless.