On the Gates of Heaven the angels cried,
What brings you forth, child?
My nights were dark, the days bright, he lied,
Let me in, keep my punishments mild.
What were you, man, in life?
The trade, profession, your means to live by,
A humble trade, a loving wife,
Dreams yet unfulfilled, why did I have to die?
Such troubles are behind you now,
As another flesh coat awaits you.
What of my past, how do I bow?
Forgo unfinished tales, get ready to redo.
The cycle continues on,
Like hot summer nights or a cold winters day,
Souls remain lost, most forever mourn,
Don’t we mortals even have a say?
We all are instruments in the Lords hand,
Balanced in pain, in gain, but with no identity, no name,
Little pawns to play with in schemes so grand,
Aren’t we all pieces in this game?
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