When my body can no longer dance to the beat of my heart
I will be gone, but not dead
When memories of me are buried inside their departed keepers
I will be gone, but not dead
When my family tree withers and my bloodline runs dry
I will be gone, but not dead
But when my name is spoken that final time
When the remaining trace of me leaves lips and along with it, existence
I will be gone, and I will be dead.
I dream of an ornate death
A sweet terminal sentence, not too long, not too short.
Embellished, with reverence and respect
I don't know who will **** me,
but I hope they do it *perfectly
The question "when will someone speak of me for the last time," along with who the speaker will be and the context, has always fascinated me. Will it be about some future accomplishment? Adoration? Worse? I guess we'll have to wait and see
