A dead man, to me,
Lies not below the sea;
Not a body in the ground,
But a voice without sound.
A dead man, I say,
Is not the soil's prey,
But an expressionless toy
Of unwarrented joy.
A dead man can be
Something difficult to see.
His thoughts go unknown;
Another faceless clone.
Only can we thrive,
Breathing and alive,
When our mind is free
Not to think
But to see.
