who he that bows at curtain call?
who he that beckons at night’s dread gate?
who he that lurks beyond the veil
and smirking leads you to your fate?
who he that lounges on burial ground?
who he that calls with velvet voice?
who he that breathes among the dead
and walks untroubled through the noise?
not death, not he; he toils and spins
yet rarely if ever does he reap
he clarifies the shades of life
and pierces through the murky deep
non mortem somni fratrem– but
his gift merits the greater fear
beg not for mercy at his knee
no rest nor hope for villains here
some dread this sleek not-friend- nor-foe
others seek his curse-black hand
fear him only if you have sins to hide
he brings but Truth at the very end