Death who is pale and cold
He takes both young and old
His gaze sweeps 'cross the land
And all fall to his hand

He walks the fields of war
Where men fall to the sword
He haunts the scholars' hall
And spares no one at all

He rides a pale white steed
His every command it heeds
It bears him near or far
To where the dying are

Beware the Reaper's scythe
He comes to end your life
For always there is Death
When you take your last breath