Death

How would you like your death announced? In joyous bells, sweet song through the town or a solemn dirge, sung in an otherwise quiet church? Don't mind me much, it's completely your choice but I must make a sale you see. Whether they throw flowers and toast to your glory Whether they dress in black and weep til morning it makes no difference to me If the fanfare isn't your thing obscurity is always an option But an ego, such a fragile thing, can't bear it A forgotten grave where moss makes its home too melodramatic for me Alas, you humans are so strange There's a ticking Can you hear it? It seems your time is fast approaching So what is your choice poor soul so close to the end? Is it joy? Is it sorrow? Or a darkness with no light? I don't mean to rush, but there's the sake of my sale What's left for you to mend? And the reaper will not be kept waiting