He is there, always waiting.
You’re swerving, but there is no escaping.
He’ll come around one day,
Greeting you with a hug.
Oh that hug that makes one soulless,
That hug that chills the blood.
He’ll either hug you softly
Like the cheese foam you’re slurping.
The sweet foam of death.
Or he’ll come around and squeeze you
Till every bone in you shreds.
Like a mountain during a landslide
Collapsing from all its ends.
He is there, always waiting
For that strange appointed meeting
And a hug that cripples the limbs.
Oh you’ll be asked about your time.
Did you spend it in remembrance
Or did you squander in neglect?
Did you prepare for that visit
Or did you forget about that bed?
The bed beneath the grassy fields
Swallowing you dead.
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