with air turning crisp
leaves crunching beneath our feet
all is dying around us
regardless of it's beauty

as death snaps twigs
all slows to a stop
and just as night falls
his hand is on your shoulder

now, you don't fret
you've been expecting him
see, you've made a deal
and you hold up your end

with goosebumps on your skin
you turn yourself in
and as death leads you away
you maintain a sinister grin

because little does death know
you planned this all along
with guns blazing in the sky
you know you've always wanted to die.

Tell me, do you hear him whisper?
Do you hear his footsteps stalk you?
He's much more than what you consider,
Unseen and unheard by others, he's just a fly

Young one, do you feel his breath on your neck?
Do you feel his presence following your life?
To others, he may be less than a moth- a speck
But I know you feel the weight of a hundred corpses

My boy, do you smell his stench of rotting flesh?
Do you smell the trail of this buried body of his?
A rancid scent, any other corpse smells so fresh
I'll bet you're wondering how to get rid of him...

My son, do you see his decayed, unsightly face?
Do you see that grin through the ebony clouds?
He will never leave, he will hold on with a lace
I'm sorry, but the demon is here to stay, good luck...

Sleep well, my little child
For the winds will sing you to sleep
And the rain will frost your lips

Sleep well, my little child
Let the dirt warm your cold face
And the dark take your breath

Sleep well, my little child
Don't rise from your deep place
And know who I really am...

Drop the rocks
Full-grown pop in the jaw
Bleeding gold
Won't save your soul
Moving again and again and again and again
Until the pacific
Closes behind your back
because criticism smacks
kids out of whack
Morphemes-phonemes again
and again
Given the knowledge
of a recycling bin of
letters

Use them again and again
Won't save your soul
Atom smash logic replaying
and playing before your eyes
Some days it's too much
coal to mine
Mouth covered when you
step in time
Won't make your life
I'm a goner if I can't
stand on the rocks
and if the laundry doesn't burn
If the grim reaper doesn't speak
nonsense words from one
state of consciousness
to the other

Drop the bomb
Call the mob
Stock our shelves
Grow the letters
Feed all those starving
tongues

Let me tell you a story
Once the grim reaper
dressed like an old woman
and bought denture cream
just to know how it feels to
grow old
A human is an animal
Some think an olive is a fruit
A dog is a wolf on the inside
Begging to learn the trick
Speak

Next in line most wait
for straight prose
pinch their noses misguided
Want blood to bleed red
Don't want ideas to smash
their bread
Won't save their minds
from a punch in the gut
Mine closing in their faces
and their Atlantic drowns
shattered glass
encasing words upon words
owned by streams of

Consciousness running
all around
Those nonsense words
running aground
can't swim though all
the world's frowns.