Shall death be proud
of taking me;
for I've done much
not pleasing Him;
shall death be bound
of taking me;
for I've got none
as soon I leave;
and I've no sound
of pleading help;
upon someone
but just myself;
shall death be there
to give me hand;
and not just stare
my shaking stand;
but what a shame
to hope for death;
to know my name,
And give me breath;
when I'm not most
the friendly soul;
death must have host
into his home;
though I know
I'm no god;
and I know
I'm just bad;
In this world,
I'm no gold;
I just live
as earth olds.
