Gyps bengalensis

I spread my wing to find death,
Soar up high following the scent,
Of the corpse's breath.
I descent to land upon,
the reeking, the dead,
Won't let you go till I am fed.
I feed on all, rich or poor.
Death tastes the same to me,
that's for sure.
But time has turned it around,
And though there are bodies to be found,
It is mine,
I'm dying on the ground.
Now it's a little too late.
For you have sealed my fate.
Dark wings would not take to the skies,
And their flapping,
won't ward off the swarm of flies.
Now it is me,
I am the one who dies
For me, there shall be now sorrowful goodbyes.
Finally, when I lie stiff and cold,
In the tight grasp of death's hold,
Who will soar over me with dark wings?
Who will sing to me of glorious days of corpses,
All the beautiful things?
And of the scent of hunger, the decay brings?
I spread my wings now to find death.
Now it has found me,
So, I hold my breath,
No more.