Death is the hand
That touches us all
In so many ways.
It touches our heart,
It touches our soul,
Caresses us to sleep
Gently tapping the body,
'tis then it takes its toll.

Its cold grasp holds us
As it touches those around us.
We lament but to no use
For the hand that holds
shall touch us too
In the end.

Be not afraid,
For tis just the hand of mercy.
Fear not, cry little
For quick and easy is its touch
But its grasp,
Squeezes so
That we cry and cry
But it never lets go,
For we refuse to let it.

Tis not mercy's grasp at fault
But we who struggle.
Her grasp only tightens
As we struggle to get free.
But if we cease to lament
And embrace this hand called death
For what it truly is,
We find she follows her namesake
And loosens her grip,
Yet never lets go.
For if she did
We'd not be with Mercy;
What a horrible fate that would be.