The Grim Reaper
I am death…
the collector of souls.
I wield the scythe of justice,
as I hold the hourglass of your life in my hand.
I am death…
waiting at you door.
Your final hours,
your last minutes of life slips by
before I come to collect your soul.
I am death…
the faceless one.
I have no shape for you to see.
The invisible entity
that only whispers in your ear:
‘Your time is at an end…’
As I take you from this realm of mortality,
only then will you be able to see,
that I am the grim reaper.
That I am death,
the collector of souls.
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