Death, we cannot escape its mournful grasp,
there to greet us in in our heaving rasp,
reaching the end of our incumbent race,
it engulfs us like a pythons embrace,
coiling around our souls in a macabre dance,
hypnotic eyes as we succumb to its trance,
long since departed souls smile in an ironic bliss,
betray our presence with a Judas kiss,
so underneath the vultures stare,
we must now go and prepare,
for time is no longer our friend,
neither cares for the plans that we attend,
so take no thought for matters at hand,
for we are all but grains of sand.