In early eve, when light it fades and shadows then grow long, my mind it wanders toward the grave and what may lie beyond. Is there within a sacred place, Paradise by name? And in this place, who's to say how long we shall remain? If this place it does exist I would it bright and fair, for if it's not than Paradise is ringed with dark despair. It could be without conscious thought or at least by our minds, an empty void, a lonesome place daunted not by time. So say I in closing breath, in my mind is sown, the knowledge that when life it ends, death shall reap its own.