Hell's Bells

Last thoughts of a Funeral Home Director

Hells Bells, the curse, of the Funeral Home Director

But its effects I never let anyone see

Until the day he does come

The man in black who comes for me

 

So the tinkling of that brass bell

Hangs it does, like death himself

Over a portal, my own doorway

Leading to another life of only peace

 

Brim hat and long cape overcoat

Stone eyes accentuated by more of solemn grin

A gloved hand on business he extends

Pretending that we are somehow close friends

 

I do know this, everyone a pauper must die

I did his bidding, took profit from that gain

While within his long employ

Now another coffer must I fill up high

 

So I give myself to his embrace

But merely as acquaintances

Mark my last breath off the checklist of life

While I hear that damn brass bell ring one last time