I am dead, or so they said,
At least from what they could tell.
But I tell you, mark it as true,
I certainly would live on very well.
Not in the superstitious way, a ghost smoke gray,
Or as in a religious rebirth,
But through you my friend, there's no end,
As part of this very old earth.
From stars I came, to stars I would go,
The parts in a whirlwind whole.
The infinite shuffle, all the violent scuffles,
As part of the metaphorical soul.
The deeds of men, as a species that'll live,
Is just a blip on the cosmic scale.
Entropy moves on from order, to disorder
Just another fossilized shale.
So I am dead, the flowers on my head,
My nose blocked with cotton.
The rituals are done, the fire is turned,
I feel wistful and forlorn.
