Find wolves gnawing On your bones, Doves flying by your tomb, Where the grass is growing Through your nose, And the gravekeeper sprays you With a garden hose. All those things you swore to do In the short years that you knew Are carved upon a stone, With a dozen words at most. When the time came to exist, And your life's catalyst Was borne unto your youth, I hope you choose to live it Through, and through; For when you rot under the ground, And all of those around you Hope that you are cozy In heaven's fantasy. And all that you will know At rest will be the mold That you become, And all that you will know At rest will be the mold Of your recycled soul. Find peace in whatever creed You're born into, And breathe The fiction that it holds, If it makes this life more whole, And bearable, But don't hold back From living here, It's all that's guaranteed: The marvel of your being. Salvation comes from epic eulogies. One more thing, My dying friend, In case this is the end, I've loved you even though Your faith it was a hoax All along. Love me, Even if to you My soul forever looms In hell's immortal vault. Don't you know It's not my fault?