When I am dead, bury me

The funeral customs of alien races defy all comprehension. So do the funeral customs of non-alien races. Can you explain to me the virtue of putting dead people in a box and burying the box in the ground?

If flowers were boogers, I'd pick a few big ones and flick them on your grave.

My tomb shall be in a spot where the north wind may scatter roses over it.

[I] painted the very people who had been present at the interment, all the townspeople.

Burn shavings and splinters of pitch pine, and when they turn to charcoal, put them out, and pound them into mortar with size. This will make a pretty black for fresco painting.

i paint flowers so they will not die

There lies a cold corpse upon the sands Down by the rolling sea;
Close up the eyes and straighten the hands As a Christian man’s should be.Bury it deep, for the good of my soul, Six feet below the ground;
Let the sexton come and the death-bell toll And good men stand around.Lay it among the churchyard stones, Where the priest hath bless’d the clay:
I cannot leave the unburied bones, And I fain would go my way.

In order to protect the physical hygiene and mental health of the living, we usually bury the dead.

This is very pretty," said Elizalde...
"It's morbid," snapped Sullivan. "Burying a bunch of dead bodies, and putting a fancy marker over each one so the survivors will know where to go and cry. What if the markers got rearranged? You'd be weeping over some stranger. Not some stranger, even, some cast-off dead body of a stranger, like a pile of fingernail clippings or old shoes, or the dust from inside an electric razor. What's the difference between coming out here to think about dead Uncle Irving, and thinking about him in your own living room? Okay, here you can sit on the grass and be only six feet above his inert old body. Would it be better if you could dig a hole, and sit only one foot above it?" He was shaking. "Everybody should be cremated, and the ashes should be tossed in the sea with no fanfare at all."
"It's a sign of respect," said Elizalde angrily. "And it's a real, tangible link. Think of the Shroud of Turin! Where would we be if they had cremated Jesus?"
"I don't know—we'd have the Ashtray of Turin.

Bury the dead. Say Robinson Crusoe was true to life. Well then Friday buried him. Every Friday buries a Thursday if you come to look at it.

The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.

When a dead person is placed in his grave, four kinds of fire will cover him, but then the prayer will come and put one of them out, and the fast will come and put another one of them out, and then charity will come and put another one out, and knowledge will come and put the forth one out, and it will say : ' If I had come sooner, I would a have put all of them out, and given you delight for I am with you now, and you'll not see anything else distressing.

The cemetery is an open space among the ruins covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.