What would be your epic last words?

An adolescent question like this deserves an adolescent poem as its answer. Here’s one I prepared earlier. As an adolescent, in fact.

Taktas jarojn tiuj, kiuj dankas
Dion – trance, kun vagstulta fido.
Trafas kraŝon tiuj, kiuj tranĉas
por si hastan vojon – kun venkrido.

Tanĝas homojn tiuj, kiuj talpas
mensizole, ĉar en si kontentas.
Transas homojn tiuj, kiuj drakas
homestrante, ĉar laŭ si potencas.

Taksas vivon tiuj, kiuj taskas,
 je pasumo de jaraĉoj dorme.
Miliardoj vojas kaj fiaskas,
sin-malŝpare, por malvivi morne.

Foja korpo pli ol ni meritas,
 ke pluvivu: tiun ni ŝtonumas,
kaj pluvivas mem ĝis preteritas.
Super niaj tomboj, tagoj lumas

sen ni. Tial traktas la drastantoj vivon,
kiel aviadonto aŭtobus-tarifon.

Love that jingle–jangle assonance. Happy to make an exit that way.

Oh, you want a translation? It’d kind of spoil it, because it is adolescent (and I wouldn’t be as unforgiving now), but OK:

Those who thank God measure out
their years in a trance, with vaguely dumb faith.
Those who cut themselves a hasty way
hit a crash, with a victorious laugh.

Those who mole away in mental isolation
are tangential to people, for they are content in themselves.
Those who are dragons commanding men
are beyond people, for they are powerful according to themselves.

Those who have a job to do value life
as a passing of miserable years in sleep.
Billions make their way and fail,
wasting themselves, to be extinguished mourningly.

The occasional body deserves to keep living
more than us. So we stone them,
and keep living ourselves until we are in the past tense.
Above our graves, days shine

without us. That’s why the drastic treat
life, like someone about to board a flight treats the bus ticket.