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Birds will fly, on the day that I die
People will screech, people will cry
Or maybe it's me,
Making up all the voices

Will people be there for my final party?
Weep that it was oh so selfish of me
Will I pass alone, will they never find it?
The stench of alcohol and decaying body

What an ungraceful envelope I'm wearing
All those efforts just to look decent
Not leaving chance to show them my thinking

What a lonely way to celebrate such event
Only maggots and I, on the day that I die