Oh, that's right.
I put three very or two very strange poems together.
This is "Wrong Turn into a Dream."
There is no pain in dying.
Even after we were dead, we kept feeling around for our heads
but only could find clumps of dirt.
Someone put newspapers over our sightless eyes,
still we could feel the sun going down.
Then one of us asked, where is the Earth?
And the other one answered, we are the Earth now.