You’ll die, and behind you your whole abode

Next day will still be under sun or fog,

And still, the postman is to cross the road

Barked at by the same nasty little dog



then in the same street will still have a stroll

at dusk, pairs of lovers holding hands

and every spring they would be dreaming all

A dream you’ve also had and that still stands



This grass is still to sprout again and grow

the willow just the same will bow its mane

with tenderness above the river flow

only the two of us won’t be again



It seems so strange to me that there still is

So much time being turned to waste through hate

When life is but a fleeting drop of fizz

Between this moment of a pulsing state



And the flat one, it’s hard to comprehend

And sad we don’t more often watch the sky

or smile, or gather flowers in our hand

us, who are destined to so early die