Death is not but a cry that’s so shy,
It hides under oldies’ scarves, it waits in dark to take us to the big park, Sheol.
Under the moony sky of Sheol where all man reside, man never dies and never wave good-byes,
but where is our Sheol?
The land between two lies, seven skies and nine circles, the first is good, the second is evil.
Alas, all is but a lie,
But man without lies dies,
He can’t rise,
Lies make us wise,
For God knows there is no God, but a lie man uttered must revive for we all shall die,
For death is no LIE.
Words of a Poet 