Where the Roads Lead
When, I pass by a crowd
Or walk the winding lane,
A thought crosses my mind
Then it drives me insane;
Find most mortals scurrying
Running their daily chores,
Shackled to their bondings
Knocking on different doors;
Do they know not the truth –
Their final resting yard?
Would lie under a bough
Where the ground’s cold and hard;
Wry lives of slavery
At last to be set free,
Oh how long it takes them
To reach the cemetery!
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