Strange things happened in the folding nights to his cremation
Men rallied and women cried in their bits to foam the last sway
The trails, hurriedly patched while the world waited to see his last dust
The lights seized shinning the paths
Papers torn and inks spilled in the meandering springs
And the cremation seemed thin
The horde orchestrated night clambake,
The outfit waddled the courtyards
And priests veered the sunken artery
All, but to halt the unforgiven pyre of a billion-year captain.
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By men hoping to plug the last purview
But nature stood deviant that he is cremated in midnight or limelight.
The savoir-faire have blanket avowal
That would run your blood numb
But all the world wanted, is the cremation of the billion-year tycoon,
And today, this cold Saturday, we isolated his shy remains into the same sea he ousted his gourmets.