Cremation Nation

How lucky is the man at the top of the queue
No more will he look again in his watch imported from Namphalong

Life is standing in the queue
But the going is not ever even
How unlucky is the man at the top of the queue
In the nation of cremation
When dead people stand listlessly in the queue of death

Beauty it might be impossible as a good cop
The ugly is clearly on this side of the fence
Once a dead man starts howling
Our folks say when there are more people, there are more shits
Perhaps the death is just like us
Perhaps we are just like the death
The man keeps hollering

And death imitates itself
And the going is never ever even
No wonder the queue becomes a commotion
Death owners, in line, have to send away their deaths
Death owners have just one wish
One is just too little
They are fighting, rushing towards the top
Death is so coveted

The air is crimson, only punctuated by pyre lights in some pockets
As more dead people and death masters join
The death is bleeding, smelling scum and all things obnoxious
And there is just too many death
The number is almost overflowing
In the entire universe, there is only death it seems
No surprise for we belong to a nation of cremation

We have a line of crematoria that go along with southern-flowing rivers
We are ever ready for death to take us to our eternal homes
The land is just too stinky, much more than the scum of death.



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