On the point of death
Don’t save your breath
There is no free will
Just the terminally ill
The fallen corps
A wintry door
Satan treads along our beds ,
Take over prey
We pass away
Fading fast – die is cast
Not long for this world
Soon to be furled
In extremis – salute the menace
On one’s last leg
Not too late to beg
One foot in the grave
For whom do you slave?
Giving up the ghost
Received by the Host?
Ceasing to exist
Ah, the fruit we kissed
In decline by lethal design ,
About to disappear
Truth ever near
The dying embers of the fire
All souls God will require
Anon's Record 