Is It the End, Or the Beginning
Death doesn't barter, it bares no remorse.
Death doesn't falter it's matter of course.
It bares no false whiteness, makes no mistakes
It never brings back whatever it takes.
It gives no warning of it's arrival
Death has no match, It hasn't a rival.
Death isn't gracious, courageous, or kind
Death isn't pleasing, it's rebuked and maligned.
Death has no lover, no friend of it's own
Except what it favors, mans flesh and bone.
Deaths seldom wanted, except by the few
who open their arms, and bid life adieu.
Death can't give back, it keeps all it's winnings
Is it the end, or just the beginning?
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