Ash is confetti on your funeral bed,
The guilotine shall chop off the skeletons head,
And around the casket dances a dozen banshees,
Whilst your eyes rest where your rotten self will,
Marry yourself to the earthworms and dead,
Divorce yourself from the life you have lead,
Love, I think the Banshees are howling.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem