Death strokes her hair
Makes it easy to scare
She walks so smooth, and slow
With a ghostly manner; images of a crow
Lacks a heart yet owns a pulse and an impressive circulation of blood
Her figure is thin, face is pale, always thinks ahead
A moving corpse, a bride to the underneath
If it wasn't for the winter and the opaque steam that furnishes out of her mouth you aren’t sure whether or not she stopped to breathe
Her talk is few; sometimes she doesn't talk at all
She enjoys the blasting music in ear pieces of rock "n" roll
She looks in directions, as if he is omnipresent and she is not content
For the day he came, death lent her a white paper inked with sorrow and bottomed with her consent
He broke her heart and left; intimidation the key for social homicide
Turning left and right she found no one by her side
In that day she died
In that day she died
Time of death was written down on tissue papers and napkins, with unforgiving tears
Reasons to live could come, but in her opinion reasons to die were ut-most clear
She plunged into the unknown, far beyond her normal daily routine
And decided not to contribute a role in that big act, yet she decided to lurk behind that scene
Definition of death was never the limitation of physicality or elimination of life
Definition of death is simply…the opposite of being alive…