At one's last breath

come to terms with Death

Unready to find

what chains will bind

your flesh with

forged by his smith

He will drag you down by the chain

and leave you in eternal pain

in the darkness of his lair

listen to both foul and fair

suffering like mares

torn apart by bears

His lair is filled with spears

and stakes and salty tears

of his long-forgotten souls

who are soon about to know

how horrible it feels

to live without meals

They do not need food

however, it depends on Death's mood.

If he is forgiving he will save

them from an untimely grave

However if he is not

all that is left is to rot

Death's door is thick and wide

to accomodate all those who ride

by Death's fair rules

even he who mewls

follow Death's path

into his wrath

Death's throne

creaks and groans

of tortured people

who never live to see the steeple

of a church

(this part will make you lurch)

Death's icy hand

freezes every land

with his cold clacking jaw

still stinking of old meat raw

he whispers to sleep

those who he reaps

Death consumes all

there is nothing we can do but bawl

when a relative is taken

he will not be forsaken

for Death consumes all

no matter big or small