For those who can foresees my death,
will you just let that be.
The crow will feast upon my grave
and be my companies.

And all the pain I held within
will bury with my soul.
Above my grave, a decay tree,
where Death will sleeps and roams.

For those who can foresees my death,
then please don’t let death stops,
the white roses decay to dust,
the rain felt like teardrops.

The bitter rain have show no grief,
then tell me why should you.
The only life my grave do bring,
are weeds and daisies too.

For those who can foresees my death,
do not go pray for me.
For only prayer that is Death,
he set my soul at ease.