Over the river
Comes nights with a shiver,
Shivers as cold as snow
For it’s is this valley,
Where death dilly-dallies,
Killing friend as much as foe

The walls are all red,
With the blood of the dead,
And the sadness mourning leaves
The dead’s last few calls
Are absorbed by the hall’s,
And whispered through the eaves,

Death cut’s people down,
Like people building a town,
Slowly, but without fail,
As cold as ice,
As common as mice,
Leaving people a deathly pale,

Leaking through every crack,
There is nothing to hold death back,
Just like a banshee’s call,
Life is brief,
For so much grief,
And yet death is an eternal fall,

Death makes your last memory,
One of picturing a cemetery,
And remembering loved ones lost,
Yet alas, it’s not at last,
That you meet loved ones from the past,
For they are covered in frost,

Doomed to flicker through the depths of black,
Knowing they will never come back,
Not that they remembers,
For they are faded, like a shadow,
And as black as a crow,
And glowing like embers,

Some linger on the very edge of reality,
Not excepting their fatality,
Some are great kings that death slew,
Dwindling on the verge of light,
But try as they might,
They never make it through,

For death’s realm is endless,
And its rein amend less,
So unlike our life,
If you know you are next,
There’s no reason to be vexed,
For nothing can stop death’s scythe.