When I do die; and I surely will,
If you cry I will not surely heal.
When you cry, it wouldn’t purge.
If you still do, please stop I do urge.

You should laugh because of this;
I knew of this and prepared as it is.
At least I tried hard, so why the cry?
I made my best of it to say this bye.

Do not paste your perception of me
And print your story for all to see.
I curse they that make some booklet,
For my funeral service I will never let.

If I am not writing my own story,
Then no human has the right or glory.
I dare he who owes no single sorry
And desires a life long torment so gory.

Sing if you must, pray if you would,
Don’t put out my picture in some mood.
Remember me as you last saw me or see fit,
Don’t display my body without me in it.

Days’ moments after death’s end,
Do bury me quickly there and then.
Wait not for all or some sunny day,
Do only just as my true home say.

My spoils I have all so shared,
In needs as deeds I had cared.
I owe only God first not any,
I paid debts I could, every penny.

I tried living because I just must,
Though like all others, I have lost.
I craved to blink ever so ready
For that spot and time so ready.


Earth has been all angry again,
Man did upset hers again;
Like he does again and again.

His efforts in controlling has been
Fixed as to betray his weakness seen;
She’s polite, not rash as harsh in between.

But you wonder how long for,
This sea-saw ride will further go?
Calmly, then hard ends a crescendo.


Truthfully none lives all alone,
But dead as alive all has none.


Living is thwarted,
Obscured by its folly.
The mind is hunted,
Impossible even if jolly.

When a bird sings,
It’s because it must.
What any age brings
Speaks for you most.


Black like blind,
Silent as the mind.
Faith is in the act
And not in the pact.

Early all the time,
Always in its prime.
The sights are blind,
At night we all find.

So in their prime,
The nights of time;
Whiter though blind,
Says what is to find.

In whirls of a mind;
Never there to find,
Nights sure as time
Are safe for to pine.


People loose their own mark,
Showing off what they lack.
Each time brings its fear to us
And it shows in our every fuss.

Ours is made just as real,
That is not just how it feel.
For in giving what we have,
We only take like we gave.

Never really asking for trust,
For we do know what it cost.
Desire should make a picture
That should show its future.