My death is not coincidence.
It’s been decided the day I was born.
Stuff has always been dense,
and meant to be this way.
My death is not coincidence.
Or is it not? Really!
Who does wonder? And why?
I am not. I am happy. This way.
My death is not coincidence.
I dare you to not feel the same.
Otherwise, at least, be nice.
Cease the day, and eat this ice,
You’re welcome.
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