When You Die It's The Same As

Maybe It's Like Mac Says. Ever Man Winds Up With The Horse That Suits Him.

Your Heart's Desire Is To Be Told Some Mystery. The Mystery Is That There Is No Mystery.

And The Dreams So Rich In Color. How Else Would Death Call You? Waking In The Cold Dawn It All Turned To Ash Instantly. Like Certain Ancient Frescoes Entombed For Centuries Suddenly Exposed To The Day.

I Was Afraid I Was Goin To Die And Then I Was Afraid I Wasnt.

I Guess You Ought To Be Careful About Cussin The Dead. I Would Say At The Least There Probably Ain't No Luck In It.