I’ve written death wishes To be cremated than buried For my poems to be printed And read to my offsprings
I’ve thought and thought Of possible ways For my quotes to be quoted By students all abroad
But when I reached the last comma My hopes and pride vanished I felt ridiculously fooled By my own greed of fame
What would it matter? When I’m nothing but a grave? Why should I long To be cherished with fame?
When I’m dead I’m dead Let me be earth and dust While I’m still flesh to bone
When I’m dead I’m dead Let me be earth and dust While I’m still flesh to bone Let me bloom and kiss the sun