Though the journey was of few feet,
It took my entire life to reach there.

If you bury me, bury me
On the outskirts of my village,
A tree I shall become,
Berries shall grow upon me
Beckoning the blossom to come,
Of my funeral:
The cortège will not be a lot,
The path is a few feet,
Tirelessly you will all reach;
And there on the outskirts,
Better you cremate me,
Let my smoke fly in the air
I don't want the earth to carry
The burden of my useless corpse.