Bury me when the sun still stares

               Bury me when the road has shutted its mouth

               Bury me in a damp, gloomy day

               Where the flowers has long forgotten their mother’s names

               Bury me without an attempt of second coming

               The tombs would not stand the gentle knocks

               Your human touch is too much

               To quiet the fragile rock’s whispering and moaning

               Bury me with my head northward

               With my nails full of dust scents

               With my bones crossed inattentively

               Like the gallows amid a crowd of crows