When a man lies,
in his grave,
and sleeps in his
mothers' arm,
with a blanket of the vast sky
over him.

Unaware of the world outside.
Unaware of the human savage behaviour.
He sleeps in his grave,
and the nightnigale,
and the animals and nature
sing for him.

The melody of the song
that touches his heart
and soothes his soul
slowly and slowly
decays' with him
as time passes by.

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