Here I am resting in peace,
As the world is called to grieve.
I see those faces that I don’t remember,
I hear those voices that are of pretenders,

They come and drop some salt,
In the hope my ghost will exalt,
They come to visit my body,
As myself was much naughty.

They come to ask for my mum dad,
They see them grieving and they are glad,
They don’t seem to care that much,
They don’t seem to grasp the crux.

Here I am in the van of undertaker,
The only one here who fathoms me better,
He doesn’t shed the fake tears,
He doesn’t whisper lies in my dear ears,

He doesn’t consider me much special,
He only wants to put me at disposal,
He is the one with an honest visage,
He only understands that life is a mirage,

Till now we haven’t engaged in conversive utter,
Without any word exchanged I talked to undertaker.


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