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In a rich, heavy soil, infested with snails,
I wish to dig my own grave, wide and deep,
Where I can at leisure stretch out my old bones
And sleep in oblivion like a shark in the wave.

I have a hatred for testaments and for tombs;
Rather than implore a tear of the world,
I'd sooner, while alive, invite the crows

O worms! black companions
with neither eyes nor ears,

See a dead man, joyous and free,
approaching you;Wanton philosophers, children of putrescence,

For this old soulless body, dead among the dead!

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