It’s Death again – He’s always there – Watching,
waiting – e’er the stare!
Every time I look behind Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood – A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe. Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he’ll never go.
The adamant phantom; don’t you know He will but wait until it’s time
For me to hear His fateful chime? – The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: ‘You’re next, it has to be…’