I'm looking at my own picture
and as if I was going mad.
Who are you? What are you doing here?
Why this body is yours, my lad?
How and why are you getting so?
O, by what mysterious ways.
Is it not time for you to go?
Or for work there are some more days?
There is alien cock in the garden,
while there are many native fields,
And the road at the sky has fallen
To remember all you have lived.