The cabbie drives, the cabbie dies,
The truck came through and his soul flies,
Just a poor cabbie dying in service,
Just a poor cabbie so poor so nervous,
Tragedy of life was not life, it was his death,
The weeping widow, dearest sweetest Beth!
Hopes lie low and lights are dim
They moan and whine and cry for him,
Life was such a bother, and death even more,
But from above he felt tragedies were such a bore.
He looked at his grieving children, his grieving wife,
Did they not understand the prison of life?
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