I wonder if Death knew the last time he touched me
That I would be ripped from his hands yet again.
Too often has he held me in his arms.
The Reaper and I are old friends.
I often wonder if he's lonely.
Does he miss the gentle souls he doesn't get to take?
I sometimes miss our dances,
The Foxtrot of Farewell,
But I'd like to think he's proud of me
That I no longer need to hold his hand.