Something that always seems so welcoming,
But has the bedside manner of an old hag.
Death,
Where is your southern hospitality?
Did you leave it back home,
Were you take your hostages,
Heaven or hell?
You come in a long black cloak,
A face masked by shadows,
Shadows that come from no where,
Nothing to cast them.
You crawl on the walls,
And on the ceiling.
You sit in the upper right corner.
You hide among the trees as your victim drives along the road,
And then...
Crash,
Another one added to your collection.
You're the monster under the bed,
The thing that children fear,
You **** the youth from them.
I have seen you many times.
Without question,
I'm sure its you.
With each time,
I prepare to say goodbye.
But then something changes,
There's a man...
I dont see him often,
Only on special occasions,
And even then,
Just briefly.
I see him nod to me on the side of the road,
Or give me a thumbs up when I walking down the street.
I see you,
Then I see him,
And then you're gone.
But only to return again.
Its not my time now,
But one day it will be.
One day I will see you,
And no longer see that man,
And then that will be the end.
It will be my time.
Something that happens to every person,
But not everyone chooses to accept.