Maybe, ye’re crossing a road, safe and sound,
And there appears a car from the bend...
With all these carriers driving around
Lots of us don’t reach our natural end.
Friday a hearse badly crashed on our highway,
Three fellows rode to bury their mate —
All were disfigured, and also a driver,
Only that lad in his coffer escaped.
Women sobbed hard through clenched teeth to earn money,
Trumpets of brass were uncandid and dry,
Also the deacon’s high notes went funny —
Only that lad in his coffer didn’t lie.
His former boss, a notorious joker,
Kissed him despite his aversion and spurn,
All did the same, though that lad in his coffer
Wasn’t kind to give even a kiss in return.
It started raining — all went helter-skelter,
What can do mortals against Nature’s will?
All rushed away to discover a shelter,
Only that lad in his coffer stayed still.
Wet weather doesn’t bother him any longer,
There’s no cold he’s likely to catch —
I must admit that dead men are much stronger
Than living ones, and we can’t be their match!
Being alive, ye should live in a hurry,
Rumors and gossips in all quarters fly,
But they can’t give you a moment of worry
When in a coffer of oak ye lie.
It’s not important if it’s personal or common —
Dead men aren’t troubled o’er housing like us.
He’s an obliging and pleasant man, our goner —
Nothing can force him to kick up a fuss.
Hades is silent and also profound,
There’s no mess, no dirt, no sludge;
While we, like crazy, wayfare around,
Those who lie in their coffers don’t budge.
“He praises death!” someone angrily hisses.
No, it’s with our cruel fate I’m upset:
We any time can be crushed into pieces,
Barring the men who already are dead.