Who will cry when you die?

I am beginning
to fancy this flight ...

Might is right
and the feeling of divinity
is not quite serving me,
not letting me absolve the ignite

I'm tired of this
everyday fight and
I'm tired of things
not turning out all right

Tartuffes, all of them
wait for my demise
Demurely irreverent
of the bickering burning bright

I'm not looking for names
In fact I'd love it
if people call me by none

I'm not looking for fame,
it drives love far away
and feelings deep within
are caged and love stoned

I'm looking for life
and following what I know of her
Till she guides me,
I'm bound by her night and day

I'm just bound to live it
till I think I'm quite done
These are moments of music
and till my turn comes
I'll swallow swift mirth

I'm not quite sure why,
when we know
we'll be through someday,
we still mourn an absence
while condemning presence

Wry, I'm not quite sure,
if we know death is a journey
then why don't we gear up not to cry?

Maybe this passage is not for all,
a pleasant lullaby

I'm sure though
we all care for and whom,
what we leave behind
and so much so we start
writhing before they begin
to cry...

I ask you,
Who will remember anything
any 'who' or 'why'
Who will cry when you die?
Who will die,
when others about your belongings
acrimoniously pry?

What we leave behind
and what others think and
say of you and me
would never change
What I am will not remain

What matters whilst I'm alive
is what I am and
become to my decide
For neither love nor hate
would ever set me free

This is the only way I know
I will continue to be
long beyond the last
they see of me . . .