One morning, down a lonely path,
Wandered two friends, Me, and Death.
One morning while the sun did rise,
Walked the path my friend and I.
An came we across a man,
Whose life was sad, whose life was cruel,
And came we to understand,
Man was but a poor, poor fool.
And came we across a horse,
Whose riding days have long since passed,
And came we on our morning course,
To shame the first and pity the last.
To all things this might be true.
You shame me, I pity you.
And came we across a crow,
While the sun behind did shine,
And blackened it the early glow,
Yet it's darkness was divine,
And came we across a sheep,
In its curly coat ov wool,
And as is likely to repeat,
Sheep was also but a fool.
To all things this I might say,
You block the path, I fly away.
And time to choose came all too soon,
Which ov them to take with us,
On our lonely path to noon,
Whose time here did really pass?
In the end we chose the man,
Or rather HE, he makes the rules,
He told me, as only death can:
I never learned to pity fools.
After him, He chose the sheep,
Grim reaper swung his fingers forth
And as blood ran, no man did weep,
Said He: cries are but for human sort.
His mercy did end to receive,
Neither white sheep nor the fool.
Neither stupid nor naive,
Are free from His grip cold and cruel.
To all things this must be true,
We're only sheep, both me and you.
One morning, down a lonely path,
Wandered two friends, Me, and Death,
As soon as the noon light shows,
Death will walk this path alone.
