There’s ne’er one who’s willing to let thee speak veracity,
What truly merits lamentation,
Is nay the deceased departing this realm,
It’s arduous to aver there’s no felicity,
ever someone who knows The regulations of survival in the celestial sphere,
Nay more stringent than mortal life,
And the inferno’s flames, oh,
Also arduous to state,
We lament the deceased,
The deceased lament our every existence,
We shall all possess our own domain,
In paradise, ‘tis boundless, Whilst in mortal life,
‘tis merely square meters,
Advance,
Transcend the snare of the standard’s transfiguration,
People’s stare of disdain,
As if condemning and endorsing sin,
Then wherefore not anticipate -
What manner of anticipation?