You broke me bodily. The heart ain't the half of it, And I'll never learn to laugh at it In my good natured way. In fact, I'm laughing less in general, But I learned a lot at my own funeral. And I knew you'd be the death of me, So I guess that's the price I pay.

In these lines, the speaker addresses a lover (or intimate antagonist) whose impact has been so severe it registers as physical damage—“broke me bodily”—not merely emotional heartbreak. The voice mixes bitterness with grim wit: the speaker can’t “laugh at it” anymore, and the metaphor of attending one’s “own funeral” suggests a kind of psychic death and rebirth after the relationship’s devastation. The closing couplet frames the harm as both foreseen and, in a sense, accepted: knowing the other would be “the death of me,” the speaker nonetheless stayed, and now treats the suffering as a cost exacted for that choice. The tone is resigned, self-aware, and unsentimental.