Who is the savior of thy soul?
From what peril is this rescue made?
There is no tunnel beaming whole,
For after death you do not fade.
Why waste the earth with mottled frames,
Entombed below in lonely graves,
And chisel a stone with an epitaph,
A trite couplet or rarer, paragraph.
Why burn the bones and trees beneath?
For they had much left to bequeath,
But we tie them down, they don't protest,
Making prisoners of escaped guests.
And so they grieve, from far and wide,
For that which is yet still alive,
Until they themselves stumble through,
And comprehend the afterlife.
