When my soul is free, set my body on a pyre alight,
free from mortality and from pain.
Send my form to join my soul in fire and flight,
and watch the blaze eat what's left away.

If tears fall as I hope they might,
down faces creased with love and age,
let them be freed as well, and blur their sight
with tears of acceptance; joyous and gay.
When my soul is free, let their souls be bright,
not tortured as I let them see me now.
Though my soul was broken through my life,
let my body burn bright; let the fire roar loud.

Let me turn my eyes skyward, head unbowed;
My form; My soul; My whole bathed in light,
not dark and cold as I feel it now.
Let the fire roar loud and banish night.

And when ashes fall from that heated height.
They will freeze the fingers that vainly grasp,
and my soul will glow in blue and white,
and whisper consolation to earthly Hells unasked,
and though cold like death and hot like pain,
though the pyre devours what yet remains,
let the fire burn fast and the night die low,
as my soul finds repose in a fire with ash like snow.