When my body can no longer dance to the beat of my heart
I will be gone, but not dead
When memories of me are buried inside their departed keepers
I will be gone, but not dead
When my family tree withers and my bloodline runs dry
I will be gone, but not dead
But when my name is spoken that final time
When the remaining trace of me leaves lips and along with it, existence
I will be gone, and I will be dead.

I dream of an ornate death
A sweet terminal sentence, not too long, not too short.
Embellished, with reverence and respect

I don't know who will **** me,
but I hope they do it *perfectly