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There is no reason to die except
An intent to be born again
Considering this, we are living dead
Why don’t we remember it then
Scientists say that we use only
About ten percent of brain cells
The other ninety must feel a bit lonely
They can’t show up anything else
But a passive presence, or maybe not
Entirely passive, the scientists say
But nobody tells what exactly we’ve got
That our conscious cannot display
There are versions, conjectures, and all that stuff
Theories of reincarnation 
But for whom this looks credible enough
And not nearly a consolation? 
Say that skepticism is overrated
Count me among those who agree
But has anyone clearly stated
About their past life's afternoon tea?
Not to mention more serious subjects
In a very detailed way
That only experience can select
From a memory’s disarray
Considering the hesitations
And a faith in some grand scheme
There could have been more occasions
If we wake those cells from a dream
I believe some were able to do that
Maybe more, but they lurk in silence
Those who talk about it, sound not
Very clear, so there’s no special guidance
I foresaw that we raise from the dead
I’ll be glad to know you agree
Or in case you oppose, go ahead
Use your ten percent cells for me.

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