20 May 2012
We listen to the mans words, while our eyes fall upon the waxy figure. He's sleeping. Dreaming, and he'll never wake up. And then, he'll fall into the earth, and rest in the dirt. We'll never hear him speak, never hear his jokes, and never see him as he was alive. Just the waxy body in a wooden box, dotted with flowers. Goodbye.
Great Grandpa • Opuss № I