Why so many candles, these faces above me?
No more harm shall ever meet my body.

Everyone is standing - while here alone I lie -
Grieving, feigning. One must be true when one must die.

And so, buried under these wreathes of leaves, I lie -
Solemnly - Agelessly - Solitarily.

Death, gone silent, once again rushes to my head,
Though by now I know all comprehension is dead.

How I loathe to become accustomed to this grave,
To be what I once was - that is all I crave.