There will come a time, when heaven holds too many and we all shall be sent to hell.
They'll pack us in like cattle for the slaughter,
Too many ghosts wander around beside me.
The day cannot come too soon.

Well the road to happiness is not paved with wonder, but years of tears to see if you deserve.
Those that hasten it will fear what they find,
Those of us who slumber will revel in the sun.

A joyous occasion to die in such loveliness;
As the beauty decays, new ones will grow.
They'll muse at the flowers
That root within our skulls,
And draw poetry and write art.