If on some morning, I should die
A snuffed out candle; from the sky
Nought shall know my graveyard shift
Nor I processed any gift
Just as cuckoos, steal their nest
I’ll join thy minion’s noble rest
Warm and feathered in thy breast
Fearful not what perils test
Between; the dissipating mires
My soul’s voice shall acme to your choirs
To your damsel white angels
Whose eyes brim with marvels?
I’ll sing as never before
O my nightingale is folklore...
O my nightingale is folklore...
My “love” I’ll come; sing through your door...
Sing as I never did before.
