Death is a dear fear to most humans
Yet the dead get to sleep forever more
Why do the living cry slaty tears for them
Such a cute thought to pity the saved
Yet the living are cursed to wake up the next day
Envy is a sin I see
But why is it bad to envy those who never have to wake up
Ashes and concrete stones are closed books
But I do not know what's worse
The sad ending of shutting my book
Or having to use my inked blood even more
Either way I find it wonderful this small life we get
But till death do us part
I find a beauty to the angel of death
The dead are truly blessed
So sleep my dears
