When I die please send me there,
The motley hills beneath the maroon sky,
The emerald glint of the eyes within the blackest dragonflies,
The thinnest silver that lies within my aging hair.
No clad to my breasts I exist without care,
A fruitful explosion of aged lavender life,
A crimson melody played by heavenly fife,
When I die please send me there.
Rapid hurtling towards the rhythmic,
Pounding in my ears ending all of my,
Struggles they are no more rejoice for,
You exist without your wore ... read more