Of eyes, how you hurt
as I am watching my own funeral
and tears - how heavy,
reluctant to fall to the ground
to dirt, mingled with fog
why does it always have to rain
when a spirit separates from the shackles of life...

Oh scars, carried on
to afterlife even, and throughout countless
plains does a soul have to suffer
or is it really the paying
of some primordial debt?

I fold my palms into a prayer
Oh, life - you double-faced betrayer
your sweet nectar did I falter to drink
only to the sullen soil to sink.

Oh visions of the impending oblivion
painful to know the irritating truth
all these figures slowly moving to and from
serve only to spoil the grandeur of perishing.

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