we'll sing a song

Let’s sing a song, he said, as his head floated into the clouds and his body sank into the ground. How can we sing if you’ve lost yourself? You’re decapitated, I declared. It won’t make a difference, he said. But you’re a corpse, A cadaver, A pitiful excuse for the remnants of the ashes of a man who once was. I told him to find himself, To take a merry trip down memory lane, stopping only for hell. He stared at me and then glanced down with that insignificance characteristic of only him. I found my head, he said. Sorry excuse for a head, I haughted. What a sorry excuse for a song.