He steps forward from the shadows
His eyes shine with glee
As he reaches for the soul of the man
Who just departed dearly

Black clad people surround him
The Grim Reaper blends in just right
The dead man's soul walks towards him
He claps his hands with delight

"A new friend to play with!" he thinks
He's really starved for company
All the souls around him just mourn
For the lives they didn't live fully

No one ever thinks of him,
Doing this deary job
All day and night, without complaint
Bearing the hatred of the mob.

Everytime he collects a soul,
He thinks 'this will be one'
To look past his black robes and scythe,
Then he can finally have some fun.  

Bus alas, its seems as though,
It's just not meant to be
The Grim Reaper roams the realms,
Dejected and lonely.

No one realises that
He's just misunderstood
He's neither vicious nor cruel
He's always judged based on his looks

So next time you feel sad and alone,
Multiply that by infinity
Then you'll have a little idea of
How the poor Grim Reaper feels!