A curtain closed is an open door
so do not mourn when waves leave shore,
For I am born where breath falls short,
Where hearts lie still and spirits soar
is where I will feel what I am reaching for.
For all alike are born to die,
those who slither and those who fly,
though it hurts to say goodbye,
rejoice assured of what I find.
Oh I await heaven's gate, where I will roam streets of Gold.
No, do not mourn, for I fear not dying
(truth be told, I may be lying)