A curtain closed is an open door so do not mourn when waves leave shore, For I am born where breath falls short, Where hearts lie still and spirits soar is where I will feel what I am reaching for. For all alike are born to die, those who slither and those who fly, though it hurts to say goodbye, rejoice assured of what I find. Oh I await heaven's gate, where I will roam streets of Gold. No, do not mourn, for I fear not dying (truth be told, I may be lying)