The Cold Inside the Chill
Winter without warning.
The cold inside the chill.
The reaper says good morning.
As death climbs over the hill.
Run if you've a mind to
but you'll never get away.
The Grim Reapers laughing at you.
I think he wants to play.
Feel his bony fingers tighten
wrapped around your neck.
Watch the raven swoop in,
take your eyes out with a peck.
You exude a feeling of gloom
as you hang your head to cry.
I would tell you it's not your doom
but I don't want to tell a lie.
Copyright © Allan Granstrom | Year Posted 2009
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