To Death:

With a hand that touches you so cold, And the other leaving you feel so old, Sweet smell of roses, here no more, While I stand knocking on Death's door. Just a little longer before my call, Just a little longer is all I saw, Oh come to me Death with open arms, Oh come to me Death with all your charms. For you are the reason in which we have life, You are the one who must wield that knife, Oh Death, I do praise you with all my heart, Oh Death, it was always you from the start. /|\