When you die, what do you want to be?
I don't want to be a ghost,
I don't want to linger,
When I die, I leave,
When I die, I leave,
When I die, why would you want a piece of me?
I don't want you to be my host,
I don't want to be a whisper,
When I die, don't cleave,
When I die, don't cleave
To me,
But if you wish to find a piece of me,
Do not search by my grave like most,
I told you I won't linger,
I told you, there'll be no whisper,
But there might be a hint,
Not a whisper, an echo;
I'll linger in the wind,
And you'll find me in the taste of mint,
You'll see me in the blinking eye of the wall-gecko,
You'll hear me in nature's mounting cresendo,
I'll be in the blinding light of the sun on your skin,
I'll be in the blood of my kin,
And I'll be the moonlight and the stars that light your path,
For when I die, I leave but I am not gone,
For when I die, I leave but I am not one,
You see this soul,
It's made of the same stuff as the color of the wind,
As the color of every single thing that breathes it in,
So, when you die, what do you want to be?
"Everything, everything."

© RTEMis