Death come marching in March.
The darkest night with full moon above.
With gloved hands, Death purloins my loved ones.
Takes their coins so they may join the soigne march.

I hear the dull sound of feet over quiet whispers.
Sensing dread before I see the sight.
Death conducting the dead, while abducting new souls.
The march threads away through the night.

Death is a relentless one. The dark menace in an endless pursuit
It becomes clearer as the march gets nearer.
Death hopes to pull up my grass roots
An rope my untethered spirit, whether I consent or not.

Death will not yield to anyone, and I am no exception.
My fate has been sealed. A deadline one can not be late for.
If my body is stubborn, and won't let me give in.
Death will twinge me until I am unhinged.

Each year, Death comes in March
Each year, I watch Death march away.
Each year, Death gets closer.
This year, I will go marching in March.