Take a glass of water and gently
Slowly sip through, feel all the senses
The taste, the wetness, the awareness
The temperature,
Feel the flow of it, as it is ...Yeah, Mon
As it goes through your throat
Feel the grip of the glass,
See the colour of the water,
Memorise every act you make
In drinking the water
In quenching your thirst
In being alive, feeling alive ....Yeah, Mon
We take so much for granted
Until we have no breath left in us.
When we die we remain still, stone as still
Stone as; where we had our last breathe
Until someone comes and takes us,
A love one, comes for us....Yeah, Mon
Organise a ceremonial burial
And offer us with that last dignity
As burial, my burial rite
We are nothing without love,
Nothing without companionship,
Nothing without empathy, care...Yeah, Mon
Someone has to give you
Your last dignity of burial rites.
A passage to ancestral lands
But do not bring falsehood
To my burial grounds
Honour me your true feelings..Yeah, Mon, as true
When I am gone.
Speak of me as I was
My good, my bad and my ugly,
For Rasta will and forever always
Be a realist, no apologise.
I am forever Rasta, in loving memories.. Yeah, Mon
NO APOLOGISE, Yeah Mon,
NO APOLOGISE
IN LOVING MEMORY
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