It.

Just a poem

It.

Because in the end

It will all depend

On how you've chosen it

That when you die

Many may cry

But no one gives a shit

You can make it short

Try now to abort

Leave it all, and quit

And there, where you go

Tell them, I told you so

And helped you just a bit

They know me very well

In all realms of Hell

But also, I admit

That when I check in

A couple of mighty djinn

Keep fire well lit

Better hot, than cold

Then die friggin old

While you cough or spit

Advice from a friend

You don't want to end

In a six foot under, pit.