It feels so strange
Shameless to think of death
When none of those one knows has died
Last night I dreamt I was dead
I came running with my dog into the room of the dead
There was nothing to be seen
Only stones and a few bushes
A landscape that travellers have often spoken of
I would rather not die here
But in my own home, where I was not dead
All the death
All the death
In the course of a life
Write about death
Describe in the poem what you feel, concerning death
In the face of death I'm like an animal
And the animal can die, but write nothing
The words die like flies
Their corpses everywhere, swept away from the white paper
Give the dirt a little room