My voice will call to you,
And I'll hope you will not hear it.
The days and nights following will have a memory of me in them,
And I'll hope you will not embellish it.
Heaven and Hell will seem too real to you now, and you'll wonder which my soul inhabits,
And I'll pray you will not dwell on this.
I died by choice and I died as a victim.
You could not have changed this course.
No one could stop this rain and the storm that brought it.
No one human could stop the forces that brought me down with them.
So if my voice calls to you, silently curse it.
So if my memory haunts inside of you, physically expel it.
So if you wonder where I am now, above or below, think not of it.
My torture was always my own in life, Let it still be mine in death.