Why present these tears, death is not a foe,
Every man must die, that has always been so.
All the kings of old have passed beyond this plain,
Now they are immortal and free from any pain.
So too shall I descend, and meet my ghostly fate,
But I shall make no quarrel as my heart's served on a plate.
Do you feel the cold? Soon it will be gone,
Now you feel the flames of the place where you belong.
