Standing at my own funeral as a witness:
Testifying the insignificancy at the end of it all.
The casket is closed - is the sight so terrifying/grim
or am I still pale as snow, red as a rose?
Where is the light, where is the calling of "heaven"?
Am I condemned to wander restlessly here?
There are no faerytales to see -
no religions to believe in.
Red as a rose, black as ebony
are the shades of this day.
Standing at my own funeral as a witness
I can see the grievers expressions starting to chance:
sorrow turns into shy smiles which are turning into laughter -
the demons are partying by my grave.
(What a fool I was).
Pale as snow, red as a rose, black as ebony.
The cold is slowly calling me as they are lowering me under
of the ground - upon which I once loved to live.
The snow is starting to fall
covering the land so dark.
Black as ebony.
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