Sculpture.

We'll live on a rope full of knots,
We'll fall and rise back lots
Until our brains are fulfilled with stars
And our skins are marked with bluish nebulas.

At the end of our time we'll fall in reverse,
Our minds will be lost somewhere in the universe,
Our bodies will be carried away on a hearse.

Let us claim a late caprice
Let us hear our last breath
Before we can seek for peace
In the silence of the death.

Finally we'll let nature
Grow flowers on our sepulture
And for the eternity become
Mother Earth's sculpture.