Then it's true, I'm deceased, I'm as dead as a doornail.
I've gone off to sleep, not to wake evermore, no,
It cannot be so, but so be it, it seems
This is my final rest, and perchance it's no dream.

All my moorings are cut from this anchor of life
Cast adrift on the sea by the Reaper's grim knife.
On an uncharted course, an unending sojourn
to a place from whose bourn, none but phantoms return...