Days of Sun and Wheat

I do bereavement well, as Death and I are one. Kin to each and closer still we have both become. Ner have I traveled far, nor long have I lament, when Death comes sauntering along and strikes once more again. The catchers in rye. The stakes draw nearer and closer upon me to close the circle of friends I once drew, becomes shorter and lonelier through and through. I do bereavement well This ancient and sallow soul, of pitiful state, in the end, will be the one YOU must O're placate. With shroud and sheath drawn round, this narrow bag of bones Rat'lin as he walks across those dry and dusty grounds.The one who sets you free, will belong to your own, your own poor company. The catchers in the rye. Pouring down a glaring eye of all breath and all scope. Contrived and askew, this immortals' balance with its teetering allowance, drew... YOUR numbers' now in view. Counting out the days, those festering souls hold out for the hope the road that they each took, will leave its end writtn' down, in the great and everlasting book. The catchers in the rye. His scythes' a gleam, born of blood and of bone. His blows are sharp and quick. He Shepard's you from beyond this realm and into the great unknown. They sing one song, One song have I One song have I er' known. For the day when alls' said is done, is passed. The catchers in the rye, thyne friend, the catchers in the rye again.