One brusque night, so quiet and dark,
Will come creeping in, an angel of God,
To steal away the dead, sleeping in the void
So they can stand on the left, or the right hand.
The curtains will fall so all can listen
For what's in the their lives, books were written.
The small children whose eyes were closed
Will be born again when heaven is opened.
For the living souls whose flesh is rotten
Written off no good deeds for the chances given
That dark day won't be different, when you listen
For in your own demises, you all will be forgotten.
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 11:18 AM UTC
One brusque night, so quiet and dark,
Will come creeping in, an angel of God,
To steal away the dead, sleeping in the void
So they can stand on the left, or the right hand.
The curtains will fall so all can listen
For what's in the their lives, books were written.
The small children whose eyes were closed
Will be born again when heaven is opened.
For the living souls whose flesh is rotten
Written off no good deeds for the chances given
That dark day won't be different, when you listen
For in your own demises, you all will be forgotten.
I tried but couldn't write more. Darkness has fallen.
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