The creeping killer, fear of death,
clinging to us all.
Shadow not seen, never felt,
yet the hand that makes us fall.

Its poison cloud stings our soul
wringing life from all around.
It reduces light to static stone -
yet their death no-one has found.

Everyone, young and old,
has once seen its face.
Recognizing what it did,
yet returning to their haze.

I for once turned and looked,
and in its eyes I saw:
the longing and its sadness,
yet never felt its claw.

So we stood, for a while.
Then I put my arms around.
It lifted me oh so high!
Yet never brought me down.