cold, still, dead

I lay cold and still,
In a icebox of steel and brass;
Right next to the East windowsill,
With frames ornamented with brass.

I lay cold and white,
Surrounded by the living in not but name,
In a hall so clean and white,
With coffee in hand and flames in eyes.

I lay cold and still,
Watching with dead eyes,
Those pretend to love and miss,
And those who dare not show their despise.

I lay cold and dead,
With none to grieve and mourn,
Save for a few who would move on
Leaving me cold, still, dead.