We add it all up, numbers and words. Actions define you, not your words, but death turns you to numbers, just a tag in the morgue.
Your corpse is disposed of quickly, and quickly is a job for two, one to embalm you to preserve you in the end, or you go to the other and now the oven is your friend.
Whether you go in the ground or an urn, there is one thing you may learn, for as quickly as you passed, your memory had gone.
now the crime scene lays quiet and rinsed by rain, and you can see the stain, of the blood in the chalk outline, where your body once had lain.
And as this all transpires, someone walks by after the rain, and this is not forgotten for it is quite a pain, for they look at that outline and wonder one great thing,
did some body or Somebody occupy those lines in which you once had lain?