My casket needs to be 100% rose gold-plated
I wanna be in my ripped Levis jeans
And my Incesticide Nirvana t-shirt with my Converse
Don't cut my hair
No matter what, keep the casket closed
Send my body to space to be buried on the moon
Or sent through a wormhole with all my music
And my story on a jump drive, if possible
Upon my death, all rivalries are deaded
Dance and celebrate, no sadness
Let my fans have a seperate funeral for me
So my family can mourn privately
Cremation if there's barely anything left of me
Or else dig up my dad's body and bury us together
Whenever my mom sees fit
Funeral must be [redacted]