After death

After 'death', what sets your consciousness free? I've imagined myself, lying on the cold concrete floor - my body convulsing, wound pulsing, as my grip slips it's hold on the mould of my wallet. But unlike my clutch on my purse, my sound holds tight to my roots. After 'death', what sets your soul free? I think I'm lying on the plush crushed velvet. Cotton-mouthed and glazed. I think I hear that strange, that profound sound of cluttered chatter. my mind cringe to my ears while they sing their solemn wail of a song. Hey after 'death', what sets your mind free? I'm covered in dirt, I'm atrophied, I'm afraid. Hey, please I'm afraid. I can't find my body, but my mind clings on to this place.