In our kitchen on the Saturday before Easter in 2013 a wacky moment occurred. As young women sat around our table dying eggs for a Sunday morning hunt. I grabbed my guitar and starting singing goofy stuff about dying eggs. Not dying as in coloring. Dying as in becoming dead! I offer the song to you today for your enjoyment.
Dying Eggs
Verse 1:
Sterile and white,
Not a chance for life,
No rooster to fertilize
Snatched from under their mamas
Placed in a cardboard crate.
Chorus 1:
Dying eggs, dying eggs,
Dying eggs, dying eggs,
Dying eggs, dying eggs,
Placed in a cardboard crate,
Oh, those dying eggs.
Verse 2:
Lying in rows
Which a farmer chose
For their final resting place.
Shipped in a truck to a grocery store
Set on a cold, hard shelf.
Chorus 2:
Dying eggs, dying eggs,
Dying eggs, dying eggs,
Dying eggs, dying eggs,
Set on a cold, hard shelf,
Oh, those dying eggs.
Verse 3:
Purchased for kids,
dropped in boiling liquids,
Like a cob of golden corn.
Colors in cups,
each egg takes a dip
Readying for Easter morn.
Chorus 3:
Dying eggs, dying eggs,
Dying eggs, dying eggs,
Dying eggs, dying eggs,
Readying for Easter morn
Oh, those dying eggs.
Verse 4:
Hid in the grass,
All the children pass,
They can’t find the stealthy eggs.
Forgotten for days,
In the heat and the haze,
Their shells begin to crack.
Chorus 4:
Rotten eggs, rotten eggs,
Rotten eggs, rotten eggs,
Rotten eggs, rotten eggs,
Their shells begin to crack.
Oh, those rotten eggs.
2013 Mike Neifert
