Who will cry?

Who will cry?

Who will cry,

When you die?

All this cravings, needing warmth and love,

Isn’t that what keeps the ground below and us above?

We want to be known, be loved, be missed,

Right after we came out of the womb.

This isn’t life, living like a ghost.

I want to love and be loved, not lost.

When you’re gone, will you be missed? Will people care?

Will you be showered with flowers? Or will your grave be bare?

It’s very hard, being alone.

For life, before you know it, will be gone.

And as you lie there, taking your last breath, thinking,

Who will cry,

When I die?