Written by: Ingibo Benson

Mortal bodies shall not last
A tree with life shall wither still
Yes, man shall be the grass
Death is air, against man's will

Screams and wails bid departed child
Goodbye. Shock and fear dig a vacuum in
Comrade's heart. Three market days mild 
The pre-consuming pain, death is an abhorrent sin

But to live forever would be a futile
World, and man shall neither  fear
The Deity nor pray; Lord this brutal
World should pass away, in despair

Man shall become dust, yet peace
Like a river shall flow if life never cease