>Enter from stage right, the old disgruntled pharaoh, who still believes in eternity, is arguing with his holy high priests over the matter of deathHey ho! Nay I say!
For my bod will not rot!
For down in the round ground, my bod,
Wrapped in fairest taffeta and silk,
Canoptics of gold to hold the organs,
A sarcophagus a twix with crystal,
Shall be the basin of me and shroud.
A form held static in sacred honey.
Sugar to preserve, which bars entry,
And keeps the pestilence away.
Entombed herein the walls of granite
Neath these halls of stone.
Buried and forgotten, until…
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