If on thoughts of death we are fed,Thus, a coffin, became my bed.
I don’t want to own anything that won’t fit into my coffin.
When a saint is lowered in darkness of the grave, then he is in light
Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave, let him know he has enough.
Birthday presents come in boxes, like coffins, filled with dead gratitude.
With six pieces of wood, I’m building a life, and my coffin.
I got you a birthday present. The box is the exact same size as a coffin.
We do know that we are cheated from birth to the overcharge on our coffins.
Are you kidding? I’m supposed to put my books in this filthy tin coffin?