With my little eye, Something beginning with,
Who, what, and why. Did I speak a lie? No, no say I,
Just a riddle, To a question, That we face when we die. When Peter stands before us,
On a cloud in the sky, With the truths, In a book, That we cannot deny. Some will cry,
As reply, Some will hint and imply, That they're good - Misunderstood, Go back in time, If they could.
To set things straight, "Love not hate", But it's not up for debate. And with the sigh, Of a guy, Who's seen the world go awry, Peter'll bar the gate,
Set our fate, Send us back, To our weak mortal state, And once more shall we try, To spy with our eye, The answer to the question, That we face -
When we die.