When death shall knock at my door
I would be an antique evidence of the past
When this world shall bear me no more
I would haunt the crimson sky so vast.
Alive, then, I truly would be
Resting deep in the blackness of thought,
They ask, Is she alive or not?
I did say no, but they had to make it hard.
At my grave, you stand low and think
You make no sound, you do not blink
It rains and thunders, you do not leave
Crying over the dreams that we used to weave.
You search for my body as it sleeps
And now, my awaken soul sees the truth
Honey, please for me, do not weep
Even as I lie down, my promises I keep.