I'm dead, still but cold,
At least peaceful and purified,
Without unpleasant thoughts or deeds,
Being taken for my final or deals.
Maybe, I'll be laid in a grave,
Or on top of pyre for rest,
Exhausts are the fires of agony,
In my totally inactive breast.
Now, as eternal my soul remains,
Free, carefree as the clouds,
With neither anxiety chains,
Nor the painful anguish bonds.
I'm far from Earthly wants,
For no longer, my heart yells,
For neither thou need or want,
For I'm complete as my grave fills.