The crypts where no one talks at all,
Forever lying forever still
In their drawers, so very small-
Death to them's no bitter pill.

Not to them, who lie in state
And hear no noise, and see no thing;
They do not twist or cry at fate,
For every day is just the same.

They do not rue a life that's lost,
Or sit disturbed and wonder why
They can no longer count the cost
Or ponder that someday they die.

And those that grieve cannot perceive
That they too someday repose-
They cannot fathom why they breathe
For reasons only heaven knows.