The man that carried his coffin,
It was heavy and the lid was open,
On his back was stuck,
An unholy bond of cold stone and flesh,
Two feet barely escaped in the world.

He was running, maybe the speed,
Maybe the wind, maybe love.
Nothing worked,
The bond was strong.

After a lifetime of revolt,
Against the cold stone that he hated,
After the curse of beeing born inside a coffin,
His step has crumbled.

He realized now in the end,
With calmness, stillness,
That all his life he ran away,
Ran away from love,
Ran away from life,
Ran way from everything,
Because his coffin scared him.

In a moment, his feet retreated,
In a moment, he was all inside,
He was not scared, he was not angry,
He was no more.

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