Skullscape

SKULLSCAPE: Observing the notional landscape about death, Sometimes I begin to tear. Faraway men rotten six feet under, dead; What will I do when death angel appear? The unknown place that's reserved for all men here on earth, Where's the route for me not to near. Where's there when we too gonna be there? This real but looks very mere, Times flying and seems everybody don't care. All the same, this thing too everybody fear, Talking to you both, Madam and Sir; I wish you ponder as you taking chilled beer. Do you meditate over this pretty well, Of where you going as you running like a deer, Perhaps it bothers you but not that bare? Men seen smiling as they cheer, But sound asleep; me and you and them not aware. End time warning, what a sheer; The vigorous cheeps from side to side by the small bird, Still we can't hear. Max volume key of worldly activities so much pressed, In fact we drifting here. Perspective reflections with some wreath, Deep down, the departeds can't breathe, Neither can they hear, smell or see, Not to talk about even speak; Once like us, no more like we. Soon we'll be like them immediately we leave; A predestined fact placed for us to believe, The thought of it is mind blowing if conceived. "What's gonna be the rational after our lives bereaved?", We've kept questioning the question with grief, 'cause of what we personally percieve. Religion's talking 'bout something deep, Yet, it's indoctrinated to deceive. And we've accepted to cleave, Since we're all naive. Every individual's a sieve; For no one could make even a clinical conclusion as we live. Yeah, this topic's not something trivial for us to retrieve, But ultimate thing to make us convinced before we stiffed. Faster's the ticking of the wallclock, And busy beavers forgetting times all gone; On the sojourney everybody's having long walk, Yet the destinations not tought of. Spending time on more talks, We not realising where we going on board; Blinded by vanity and crosstalks, We've forgotten where we come from. Up and down, the journey's not con chalked. Yesterday some people demised by wrong thoughts, Today too some people so shocked, Are departing as emotions have them dawn on. Parading of corpses into broad morgue, Life becomes an irrefutable bore draw, After our buried bodies are all stocked. We discover we equal no matter what, 'cause we'll come to know we better not than living dog. Naked we go just like when born; Irrespective of boasting to be a rock, You'll be humble since life can't be bought. That's when road from death to life would be blocked, Small weeping and wailing, that's all; At our final burial day praises unto us through sad song, But short while our names mentioned no more; So simple we lost in short fog, And even there's hope for the living old moron, Together with the warm gawk.