Quite simply, he made coffins.
Scribble it away,
Scribble like there's no tomorrow
No more day
No more phrases left to borrow
And then, you'll pop in the ground
You'll find your words
Have been chucked in the pound.
They'll say he's gone,
Never again, not now,
So scribble away.
'Cause one day...
We will put you down.
You were expecting this to make sense, weren't you? So was I. A random poem I found from when I was fourteen. No, I don't know what it was about the coffins, either.
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I wish I had been that cool when I was 14!
Ha thanks :)