Where do I go, when I die?
Somewhere up there, into the sky?
Will you see me, with your eye?
When I go up in the sky.


I wish I had a crystal ball.
And see myself when I go.
Oh how high the endless chances
If not high, then how low?

But then I think, what if I see.
What really happens to you or me.
When we die, do I want to know?
If I fly, or if I go.

Down to the depths
Down to the hell.
I think I’ll pass
Upon this dwell.

For who’s to say.
That when I die.
I will surely go
Into the sky?
Or a pile of dust and bone chip lies?