The Pallbearers.
They carry me westward,
covered in velvet,
encased in mahogany.
Wander to the site of a lonely grave,
hallowed out, ready to embrace me.
A count of five.
Silence among the rustling winds.
A tear escapes the eye of one
as he begins to hum a sorrowful tune.
He sheds inhibition and begins to sing.
A high tenor, trembling slightly.
One, then two.
Three, then four.
The five dour men begin singing the tune of the Foreigner
as I’m buried six feet deep.
Given to the grave.
Into new life.
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