The Defiant and Death

I am Death, the end of all things

I am the fate of all that breathes

The World now sleep, all light now fleeting

Come Death, reap your cold harvest

Bring thy scorn, your scythe to sharpen

Bring thy grim, by cloaks you are hidden

The field is ripe, the crop is ready

Come Death, reap your cold Harvest

My hand is war, my gaze is fear

My reach is endless, my work is near

Now to your field where all beings lie

Come Death, reap your cold harvest

A prideful Being in all your deeds

A crop of fear from which you feed

Yet find you shall that all things fade

Come Death, reap your cold harvest

My wheat is man, my food is good

I will eat well, as all Gods should

Then swing you Scythe you wretched beast!

Today is the Day you shall not feast

For I am the crop you seek to reap

Come Death, take thy cold harvest!

You will remember me in this dreadful field

As I am the crop that did not yield

You will cut me down but I will give no tear

Come Death, where is thy harvest?

When you came for me I did not fear

I heard the words you did not hear

For man you were created, for man you were born

Starve Death, I give you no harvest

The End

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