The Death

"I've never been busier
Massacre, epidemics, war
I'm always there"

He's been everywhere
He's been there forever
The souls that come to earth
Are later taken by him
The Death

Some of us give him horns
Some others a skull
But one thing is sure
He doesn't even wear a black hooded robe
Not even when it's in the winter cold

You may wonder "What about a scythe?"
To tell the truth, a scythe there is not
It's all in our minds
Believing what´s fake and false

He whispered in my ear
"Want to know a small piece of truth?"
All I could do was to hear
I'll show you how I really look,
I don't want to be rude

To me, his final words,
"You need a mirror"
When I realized, I was in shock
"See how much your thoughts narrow to?"





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