When does reality stop, and fiction begin?
Cremate me not, for I want not to be ash
Bury me for I want my flesh to nourish
The worms to breed in my carcass, feed from my past life
My flesh to rot away and seep into Mother Lanka’s soil
Oh bury me; oh bury me please in my Paradise Isle
For my rotting flesh and even in death
I continue to nourish my Paradise Isle…
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