Most unscrambled dust in a casket
weren’t ready to kick the bucket.
Before laid seen as unscrambled dust,
After laid, a scrambled dust.
Oh death can we taste thee and return,
So as to live and make a U-turn?
Why art thou so despicable?
Why art thou inevitable?
I would always wish there’s a death proof,
So as to prevent the earth from becoming our roof.
Can there be a solution?
It’ll cause a transition.
For this I’d say woe unto thee oh death,
For in thee folks end in regret.
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