Slave to the rhythm of life.
Reminisc my previous life.
I lived, I loved, I died.
Sat myself and sighed.
Mysteries so deep to everyone else,
just nature to me, really nothing else.
Reincarnation is not a price.
It's the result of your demise.
A soul, a hundred and seven years old.
A body just twenty three young years old.
Step down, off your religious latter.
With your ignorance, only me you flatter.
Put your life into the dead mans perspective.
Find a suitable place in the grand collective.
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