Death, is a gentleman,
He keeps his word, he takes the pain away,
It is not he, who is to be blamed,
For what we ourselves, bring upon us,
Cars, were invented by men,
Guns were invented by men also,
Death takes the sick and weak by the hand,
Leading them to where there is no pain.

I met death, in my bedroom,
With the cold steel blade in my hand,
Though it was not to be,
He kissed my life, like a long-lost lover,
But didn't take me fully, I was not ready.

I met death, for a second time,
The cold hard pills, washed down dry,
It was not the time, nor place,
He took my small calloused hands, and bid me goodnight,
I awoke in a hospital, fully alive.

I met death for a third time,
Last night on the roof, the short drop, beckoning,
He took me by the hand, and danced with me,
Yet it was still not to be.

Though for someone of my age,
My virgin skin, has been graced by deaths fingers,
Far too often, some would be scared,
Others would become a shell,
But not I,
I know death, he is a gentleman,
He shall keep his promise, so with each subtle kiss,
And tender embrace,
He has made a promise to me,
To take my pain away,
So I shall wait for him.