When the day arrives that they lay me down,
into a realm of eternal dreams I’ll go.
As I lay inside that space void of all light and sound,
incessant peace shall be all I then know.
When that cathedral’s pipe organ plays,
those sombre melodies shall be haunting and loud.
Images of woods,
fields,
storms,
rouge,
and dreary grays,
shall vibrate inside every dark shroud.
When they place that veil o’er my pallid face,
the barrier before my eyes shall be sealed;
and all shall then move at at melancholy pace,
whilst I pass o’er fields of tulips and buttercups
locked away inside a box of cypress wood and steel.
When all those people gather round,
there no tears shall be shed for me;
for inside esoteric spaces I will be found,
as I roam through epochs of mankind’s history.
When they finally get me there,
my immaculate corpse they will at long last see;
as I slumber without any needs or cares,
yet silently weep at their mortal lives of misery.
When they toss that final shovel full on,
skies above shall darken and storm.
They shall declare aloud as I lay there all alone,
Something about this ceremony was not the norm.
When I have lain there ten thousand years,
my dried bones will yet remain in perfect place.
No pain,
no weeping,
no more grieving tears,
as I slumber in a dream-like occultist space.
DoubleSpeak 