Waltz

Death Plays his Violin

To draw us further, farther in.

Happy, almost, in his arms,

Finally, finally, free from harm.

A soul laid bare before the night,

So that that soul may take its flight.

To grow its wings and be free of Sin,

As Death plays his Violin.

And as Death plays his Mortal Instrument, 

All before Him falls in Increment.

His eternal symphony always haunting,

So much So it Leaves me wanting.

But Do I know if I should go?

To go and witness his lasting show?

I fear not now the song he plays,

Only the song that makes me stay.

How Can I know what I must be?

If Death will never cease to Sing?

I guess now I go to him,

As He Just plays his Violin.

And As Death plays that violin,

He drums us further, farther in.

We go, then, to meet our maker,

And Death Just rattles his somber shaker.

And Death, He lures us, brings us toward him, 

As He plays his haunting Organ.

We now leave this stating life, this morn,

As Death plays his Herald Horn.

And when such time comes as we want to leave,

Death pulls his violin from his sleeve,

To lead us finally, now to him,

As Death Plays his Violin.