Suppose my clarion song sound
Before I was published
I beseech thee all
Pray not to be; but did sleep after all
Never let my rhymes go to waste
Even I as a graveyard waste
My spirit to thee all it pray
Remember my sweet songs where it lay
And bring my memories
To the day of the morrows.
Death brings no pleasure or pain
But to my wishes do in fain
For then, my vainglory would come in haste
And heads would turn to taste
From these sweet pages
From whence to all ages.
My maker calls me to his vaudeville
He blows the trumpet from heaven’s hill
The time cometh now for I
To be in the abode of he, the most high
I shall go with my flair
To make use of up there
He shall sit there on the moon thrown
And by my rendition shall he be drown
Source: Enigmatic Global Concept