Oh death, you merciless master of the dark underground
by Ivan Brooks Sr
Have you no conscious perimeter when you roll call?
Oh death, you heartless master of the great beyond
Does your job description involves making nice people fall?
Why do you always take the best and leave us grieving?
Your only job is to waste beautiful souls and break hearts
A part of our existence as man mortal by God's reckoning.
Oh death, thy cold and frail hands often takes our dearest
Maybe it's God's will to call home the very best amongst us
Taking them beyond the starry constellations for eternal rest
Where their souls will ride atop a beautiful golden horse
How long will you cause us pains for your selfish gains?
Most times you separate us from those we deeply love
Does it please you to silence us and pull hell's curtains?
Oh death, from us thy grey hands have taken a white dove.