Wilted Flower I'm a mortal, born of woman Full of doubt and full of trouble I came up like a flower, now I'm wilted With a gray beard of stubble There is hope for a tree Cut it down, it will sprout again But when mortals die What happens to us then? Will the heavens open wide? Will the dead rise again And walk in a paradise Unknown to living women and men? When we die, will our minds Turn completely into sand? Are we good for nothing more Than to fertilize the land? Over time the mountain falls The rain washes it away But for now I'm a wilted flower With a beard of gray