Build the kindling and torchwood high
And pour the fuel across the bottom
Let it be a massive fire
Burning a pillar of black smoke to the sky
And let not one of you act solemn
The occasion is one of joy
For a life lost to such misery
Is heaven gained
I'd be miserable
If I remained
Such a mystery
Why I bothered to stay so long
And when I am gone
Take my books
Let them be free
And take my words
And ignore them
Let me be invisible
Forever after
Let us dance
It is time
Call it the dance of the damned
For no one escapes
Alive
"Perhaps the early grave
Which men weep over may be meant to save." Lord Byron
