IRC-Galleria

when i was dead,
when i was only a touch of ash
in the casket, below the dirt
and the black stone,

i was blessed to rest then.

Into the great stars i gazed at,
in the evening of my life.

the fragile dirt above me,
like a veil,
i saw the look of the universe
without any secrets.

once, above the ground,
in the dimming, cold night
i heard a sweet voice saying:
"look, he is sleeping here."

"the grave is unattended"
"yes it is. he was poor."
"wasn't his mind a bit.. poor, too?"

fool, distinctive mind,
unfortunate man thoroughly.
drank all night,
and a bit by bit he took his life.

although he wrote some songs-
-but they were just those..

"did you knew him well?"
-yes.. well, let's not talk about it.

i listened, and i couldn't
feel no pain.

My eyes were gazing
into the rising sun.