And when I die,
Don’t cry or weep,
For human life,
We cannot keep.
When breathing stops,
Then quick decay,
Will cause the flesh,
To pass away.
So dig a hole,
And bury me,
Somewhere beneath,
A sacred tree.
Of all of life,
Death is the best,
And Dadaji,
Is now at rest.
But that which lies,
Beneath the tree,
Is not the soul,
Of Dadaji.
For that has gone,
From human frame,
Back to the one,
From whence it came.
