After My Last Breath
That old mournful songs they'll for sure sing
as on pyre or in casket lies me cold;
when my dwelling surcease and then I wing
to the afterlife where life true unfold.
In the jury's bosom will lie the truth:
whether I lived or I merely existed.
Like my life, their take will be rough and smooth;
curse to the injured, boon to the lifted.
Now is time to impart and make impact;
for to tarry or extinct, my demise
will tell in the hearts of a world apart;
though in the hells or heaven my soul lies.
As bliss bid and hailed me welcome at birth
so or otherwise, after my last breath.
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