My friend was a pallbearer, and he carried many dead
His shoulder bore the weight of them, and rested next his head
And when he died himself, he had his body encased in lead
So the men that carried him would wish he really wasn't dead
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Being a Pallbearer is an honour. A special friend to always remember and that you have.