What happens when I am put to rest?
When my limbs are still,
And no emotions show?
When my blood runs cold,
Like icy snow?
Has my place been sown?
Do I stay right here,
Or do I stay attached to home?
When all that's left is my soul.
Or do I rise to meet the golden gates?
Stunned by the bright white light,
Only to be afraid of my fate?
Or do I get dragged down,
To the place filled with fire
And gladly bow to my new sire?
