Oh, Ye Death

Oh, ye Death, I implore, come quick
'Cause, of this life, I'm tired and sick
Be it swift or whilst I'm resting my eyes
Ye need not come in deft disguise
The Reaper in cloak and bone of white
Catches the moon in his eerie scythe
Watching me over as I dream
Waiting until I awake, it seems

And when I do, I will greet him well
In attempt to persuade me out of Hell
A round of cards or shooting the breeze
Before dashing off on his skeletal steed
So, before the light of tomorrow comes
And darkness is whisked away by the sun
As long as it's free of suffering and hurt
I'd rather be dead than go into work