Death is a person, like you or I
Death is not a shadow, she lives a normal life
She washes dishes, and changes clothes
Earthly items, does she hold
She checks her clock, for lights of red
And rids the image, in her head
She sees a light
And grabs her keys
Then drives her car, to the scene
The dead is waiting
For their cab
When she arrives
Her hand they grab
They get inside
The living car
Preparing to
Become a star
She starts the cab
But drives nowhere
For they have no money
To pay their fare
