It's always there
This omnipresent fear.
Of what comes next.

I don't claim to know
For better and for worse
But now my great-grandmother is being driven away in a hearse.

It instills little confidence in me
Since I do not know
What to see.

Is there a better place out there for her, now that she has fled
This wretched Earth?
Is there nothing but oblivion beyond?
Or is there some fiery, liquid pond?

If God would be fickle enough to send my grandmother to hell
Then eventually with her I would rather dwell.
A freewoman in the fiery ocean of hell would be a better place to be
Than a slave in a pleasant and calm sea.

I suppose I will never know
Until the cursed day I die.
But if a vindictive supreme deity is the answer
Then on that day
With so many that I care about;
So many good people
I would much rather fry.