Is there life after death?
Makes me think of that sometimes
Will I be or just get
A pile of dust and bone chip lies.
I listen to those who fear this scene
And tell me that I am unclean
If I don’t try to follow thee
There won’t be a place for little old me
Except down under the earth and sea
Perhaps a better place for me.
Unless of course there is a hell
And then I’m screwed if judged to well
So when I’m six feet in the ground
I hope I don’t even hear a sound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem