There is nothing!

What becomes of the dear departed?
Oh! just memories ashened
blown in the wind.

There are no angels
I clipped their wings,
St Peter’s gate is boarded up
with no welcoming entourage,
only the hollow cries echo
from the living above.

All the while you lie
nourishing Mother Earth decomposing,
the living go on but
it’s not eternal.

If their was a God
would priests abuse children
knowing they would have to answer to him?
I think not!