I've tried making friends with Death
on many a dark and crimson night
I would lay in my folly
and watch as Death made his plight.
Stealing children
and mothers
and the souls of the old
watching their chamber rooms
turn murky, chilly and cold

But alas, Death does not need friends
he has told me many a time
but perhaps if Death had a hand to hold
he would not take the hands of the strong,
maybe, he'd take mine.

Death, why do you leave me here?
Why can I not join you tonight?
When you leave, you give no reason
you brush me off, and disappear
into the silvery concaves of the light.

Death, I have touched your scythe
and I want it to graze my neck
I see no future for myself here
only mist and clouds appear in your oubliette.

Death, you are beautiful
your Alabaster flesh crawls in my mind
why does no one else love you, Death?
you are perfect in my eyes.

When you stop choosing the ones who hate you
and make friends with the ones who love you, Death
then maybe
all the souls here around you
can learn to find peace when you lead them to rest.