You like to think you were high born
as your family was rich and posh
your money and apparent status
cloud your judgement
You look down on those you think are below you
because they are not of the same class
your social position should mean nothing
and yet you inflate it whenever you can
Your grave and funeral may be more expensive
but it does not mean that it was better
when you pass on you'll meet the scythe man
and he will show you the truth
Your gold and jewels will mean nothing
as you stand before him in death
you're no different now to those you looked down on
except you had more to lose
So don't think that you are a better being
because you have titles and prestige
we may not be born on the same level
but in death we are all equal
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem