One of the grimmest gravestone inscriptions I know of is the one on the grave of Jim (whose surname I forget) who was the landlord of the Bush Inn in Morwenstow, Cornwall. The grave is in the Morwenstow churchyard. It reads:

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead

(from a poem by WH Auden)

Jim died some time in the 1990s. We knew him and his partner Beryl quite well. A more severe pair of sourpusses you've never met. One summer's evening Mrs Steve and I drove to the pub, looking forward to a pleasant bar meal, which the pub was noted for. When we arrived, we found all the doors locked and Jim strolling around outside. To my polite enquiry as to the prospect of our obtaining a drink and a meal, he told me that he wasn't opening. He didn't feel like it. He couldn't be bothered. Tails between legs, we made our way home, stopping at the chippy in Kilkhampton.

Seems that the tone of his epitaph was in keeping with his character...