When I'll be lying on deathbed,
Fake or true tears might be shed.
To my grave you'll come and cry,
When even my memories will die.
Few final words in my praise you'll say,
And then helplessly look the other way.
When I die, who will cry,
All their tears will ultimately dry.
My thoughts might stir you occasionally,
But it'll affect your life's pace barely.
My achievements no more will be celebrated,
Neither will the defeats anymore be elaborated.
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