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.