in the 19th century a lot of people were prone to catalepsy and fear of getting buried alive.

they be like, i'm not dead yet, but they couldn't speak, or when they got their voice back they be yelling in a box under the dirt.

 i dunno, i get a little macob this time of year, and it lasts through the solstice.

but what if death is just like a commercial break, and now, a word from our sponsors, and then you get a light snack and lickety split you're back on the couch, but you might be a zombie.

 i bitch and moan about this place, but i'll be back, you bet your sweet ass, i'll be back.

but first i guess i got to go, and though i'm losing my teeth and getting crazier, 
i'm in no hurry.