Last Elegy

I do wonder,
What plays in the head of a dead man?
As all warmth finally fades,
What regretful dirge,
What orchestral round of applause,
A decapitation by piano strings,
A bowstring run across the jugular,
It’s all static cremating your brain,

The reaper hums a gloomy tone in your ear,
It’s an aural kill-switch,
As the lights finally bleed out,
Will it be an elegy for a lifes mediocrity?
Or a celebratory crescendo?
Either way it will be your final song,
And there shall be no celebration,
Only the void.