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.

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