We eat and drink; defecate and sleep
Heading towards our graves, six-feet deep
Where food and drinks become worthless
And gold and dinar become useless
We spend our time in jest and play
Forgetting the proximity of the last day
When status and fame will avail not
But the weight of our deeds will be our lot
We will be raised like naked zombies
Smiling with joy, or crying like babies
Eyes will confess all they have seen
And feet will tell where they have been
Oh! Lord, make our hearts steadfast
Keep us on the truth till we breathe our last.
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