#248
No Record
I thought that I could comfortably live
And even more comfortably die,
Knowing the world will always contain
Some traces of my passing by,
At least until the sun burns out.
Or God redeems our choices.
Thus the record of all our traces
Vanishes like the snowmen's faces
At the advent of the warm spring.
Let us raise our voices to sing.
Alleluia