Death

The clocks are ticking,
The times grow near.
We all know I'm your deepest fear.

The crowds are rushing,
It's getting late.
There is no way to change your fate.

Run for the hills,
and cover your head.
There's no one left to bury your dead.

The shadows are cast,
Count the bell's chimes.
The stroke of the tenth will signal the times.

The sickle is sharpened,
The noose is tied.
I won't be leaving till every man's died.

Gather your children,
say your last prayer.
You know that you can't hide anywhere.

Do what you must,
Before it's too late.
Soon you'll be knocking on old Hell's gate.