Uncle Balfour

This is for Uncle Balfour,
who's been dead for a month of Sundays.
This is for Uncle Balfour,
who was all torn apart by wolves.
There weren't any wolves –
he got drunk and fell out a window,
but Aunt June's a pioneer:
so we say,
"..all torn apart by wolves."

This is for Uncle Balfour,
who expired with lots of money.
This is for Uncle Balfour,
who retired ten years ago.
He didn’t really retire –
he was fired for awful behavior,
but Aunt June wants an open-casket,,
so we say,
“Soon, there will be lots of money.”

This is for Uncle Balfour,
Who is nestled in Abraham’s Bosom,
This is for Uncle Balfour,
Whose suffering has come to an end.
There wasn’t any suffering,
And there isn’t any insurance;
He didn’t know what hit him,
And he never saved a dime:
But Aunt June is a decent egg
Who remembers us every Christmas –
So, Godspeed to you, Uncle Balfour:
How bad could you have been?