How do you want to be remembered or don't you even care?
Is it a frivolous wish to even want to go there?
Are we so vain we're trying make a name for ourselves
Longing to see yourself on one of those e-shelves ─
A virtual you free of charge when you're dead and gone?
Say it ain't so! A me.com, a here-I-am app at the break of dawn?
Who cares? Tell me who.
Is there a heaven for ants or was it made especially for you?
How do you want to be remembered or have you already given up?
Trying to fill a bucket when all you are is a cup?
Why am I writing this?
Does it bring eternal bliss or just a hiss?
Maybe you're more upbeat and Hope's a funny place:
It's right there in your mind until you've lost the race.
I hope you're right ─ I hope there's more than meets the eye.
I hope one day I'll hear you cry, for I am gone, you say, "Goodbye"
But why so sad when there is still a name?
A glorious name, a modest name, my name, your name, it's all the same.
Why try to be the best when there's no hierarchy in heaven?
Why try to make a name for yourself when the clock strikes eleven?
And it's getting late ─ tell me do you care?
How do you want to be remembered when the moment's there?
* * *
|A rose for Miss Stormy|