If you took each man and women, and lined them up next to their graves
And asked them then, what would they say?

Well, for most they’ll probably take to denying and crying
Saying why have you brought me here, and when can we leave?

And you’ll see for most then, they’ll take to escaping
And denying to answer, anything of value.

Still others will look at their grave
And take to looking at it in dismay

They’ll take to thinking
But never enough to find an answer

So they too will eventually falter
and return to their ways.

Some men perhaps will take to crying
And to these I think, there’s more Truth left than not

For perhaps they see something that is worth crying
Or else they’ve thought just now, that time is what’s dying.

But we are mortal, weak humans whom roam this Earth
And we cannot bear to stand when we’d rather be hurt

Stagnant to the last, painful to every grasp
But still we will not move, else we start causing our own pain.

But what is pain to a man who is already dead?
And what is grief to a man who’s laid to rest?

Ample time has been allotted to each and every one.
And to figure out a way to spend is required of all living beings.

So stare at your grave to contemplate madness
But then look at your present and think not of what’s after

Just take the feeling that comes from the grave
And pour your heart into doing what’s opposite of that place.

Then maybe some men and women will have nothing to say
But will simply turn, and start walking away.

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