Do you ever think about it?
I dream about it.
How will I leave this place?
Will they remember my face?

I believe it's normal to think,
To think about a way.
How will I leave this world?
When will be the day?

Many people can't handle the thoughts,
They can't bear to hear the noise.
They can't think of how the body rots,
The bug, and the corpses it destroys.

Getting placed into the cold and dark,
I dream of how it will be.
On top my grave may turn into a park,
Children stumbling round up above.

I dream about it all the time,
What will happen when I pass?
Are theses thoughts a crime?
How am I gonna die?