Darkness pressing down, pressuring the receding light
faith has gone away; no more will to fight.
Of what is inevitable, why does the inevitable value death?
How can that value uphold, when all fear the final breath?

Bones to ashes in the face of life's passion,
unjustly, too often the beautiful end in the worst fashion.
It is but life's renowned way
to frequently put things in disarray.

Of angel eyes and eternal light and sincere peace
death does not promise in the least.
Youth in eternal sleep is not romantic,
such tragedy does not cause love's semantic.

Gaze into thy eyes, and see no bitter glass
destiny is not a promise, however great, death it cannot bypass.
Of which none can withstand,
is death's cold, unlively, grasping hand.

Angels sing and send out reaching arms
and yet all dying spirits still endure fear and alarm.
Of what is inevitable, why must the inevitable value death?
How can that value uphold, when all fear the final breath?

All who feel fear in death,
show such irony of their faith in heaven.