Death comes at an unknown hour uncloaked and silver *****.  A seemingly malevolent, yet friendly finger eagerly reaches out and cuts the tenuous thread of life.  Death gives a macabre smile and narrow laugh as night takes on a wrinkled texture.  The oft used gates of the netherworld shriek their welcome as they enthusiastically open.  

Demons and angels, sinners and saints all come together in celestial copulation.  The masks of life long forgotten, the shell of the mortal buried and rotting beneath a forsaken world.  Death allows a you a seemingly perpetual slumber as aeons will pass and empires will go through their gory cycle with each misty sigh.  

The doorbell rings, in saunters in a man wearing an ivory suit with a cheap garish tie.  A peddler of schlocky goods and empty promises.  Some will hear the siren call of the carnival barker, accepting the pleading asservations of a heaven with sapphire water and embodied souls.  Death, amused by this eternal drama, keeps his hand impassively ready on the unforgiving scythe.