An eighty-year-old, a father, sets forth today on a wedding's decree,
To escape the claws of Death, a new bride he seeks to see.
An eighty-year-old father.
Black ink stains his silver hair,
His weary form, in cloth he'll ensnare,
With steps that falter, a frail affair,
He sways, he stumbles, beyond compare.
Death's queen calls out, "What joy does he embrace?"
An eighty-year-old, a father, sets forth today on a wedding's decree,
An eighty-year-old father.
Neighbors whisper, "He's lost his mind,"
"The old man's path, he cannot find,"
The girl's kin cry, "He'll wed our bride,"
While his kin laugh, "He's young inside!"
His heart takes flight, does the old man ever feel,
An eighty-year-old, a father, sets forth today on a wedding's decree,
An eighty-year-old father.
He girds his loins, prepared to fight,
Upon the steed, with all his might,
The whip descends, the horse takes flight,
The old man's journey, ends in night.
The wedding song, it ceased to be,
A somber dirge, for all to see,
An eighty-year-old, a father, sought to wed eternally.
An eighty-year-old father.
The pyre now built, from the bridal bed,
His garments now a shroud instead,
His trousers, now a final thread.
The mourners gather, for the dead.
Relatives feast, on sweets so fine,
Their burdens lifted, from their mind,
An eighty-year-old, a father, sought to wed eternally,
An eighty-year-old father.
The girl's name sold, for wealth and gain,
Her parents' hearts, consumed by pain,
They celebrate, death's cruel reign,
And marry her to a younger man,
Her fate is sealed, her karma spun,
Consider greed, before it's done,
Don't trade your soul, for wealth alone.
Don't trade your soul, for gold alone.
Don't treat the girl, a cow so meek,
As butchers do, with words so bleak,
Improve your life, your soul to seek,
This truth we tell, and softly speak.
An eighty-year-old, a father, sought to wed eternally.
An eighty-year-old father.
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