I know your instincts tell you,
that's it time to run away.
But the reckoning is coming,
and your soul's in disarray.

No one wants to face him,
No one wants to cross that line.
Everyone is brought to judgment,
Everyone is prey to time.

You might think you can avoid him,
but quite soon you'll learn the truth:
This isn't something you can win,
These are not the days of youth.

They say he's cold and vicious,
and his spirit somewhat fickle.
No one wants the business end
of a freshly sharpened sickle.

They say every man and woman,
when it's death they're about to face,
Should put on a mask of bravery,
and accept the thing with grace.

That may sound a little foolish,
and not the gift for which you prayed.
But what's the point in ending a life,
In anger and afraid?