From: street@shellcrash.com   
      
   Before the fire, they used the land—   
   They dug the graves with stone and hand.   
   They wrapped the dead in cloth or clay,   
   And let the earth take them away.   
      
   Some laid their loved ones deep in caves,   
   With beads and tools beside their graves.   
   They hoped the soul would find its way,   
   But still the flesh would rot and stay.   
      
   The air grew thick, the ground grew full,   
   The final rest began to dull.   
   So someone stopped and dared to ask:   
   Is there a cleaner, truer task?   
      
   They gathered wood, they built with care,   
   A body placed in open air.   
   They struck a spark, they fed the flame,   
   And watched as death was not the same.   
      
   This fire was made by human hands,   
   Not from the skies or nature’s plans.   
   A way to honor those who passed,   
   And send the soul beyond at last.   
      
   The smoke rose up, the ash fell down,   
   No burial mound, no earthly crown.   
   The body gone, but something freed—   
   A calmer end, a deeper need.   
      
   No beast had burned its kind before,   
   No tree, no tide, had taught this lore.   
   This was a human act, a choice—   
   To give the dead a different voice.   
      
   And from that day, a rite was born,   
   To face the end, not just to mourn.   
   A fire built with thought and grace   
   To send the soul from this time and place.   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)