Let your bookcases and your shelves be your gardens and your pleasure-grounds. Pluck the fruit that grows therein, gather the roses, the spices, and the myrrh.

Judah Ibn Tibbon

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Hold My Hand as I'm Lowered
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Hold my hand as I'm lowered
And please don't see me as a coward
For death, I do not forsake thee
Though your dark stare is always upon me
 
Well, I fell in love with a world in you
Well, I fell in love with a world in you
 
O Death, do not feel like the victor
'Cause my poor life makes you none the richer
Oh, your cold hands are clutching at cloth
I leave nothing on Earth that won't rot
 
Well, I fell in love with the world in you
Well, I fell in love with the world in you
 
Well, I fell in love with the world in you
And now I feel cold
 
Well, I fell in love with the world in you
And now I feel holier