Envious of the stars that are gone
And yet their light burns through
They hold no burden of life
In the glory of death they shine

It's not the misery of things
Nor of questionable ways
The pain of unquenchable thirst
The ache of unending hunger
Frozen paralysis of compulsion
Of the hustle of life and bustle of folk
Smile and smile and accept in grace
Till the pain is comfortable.
Till the ache is home.