There is no rest for Death, I guess

As macabre as that may be

He owns the Clock, within your chest

There is no use to flee

He'll take, and take without a care,

You can try to run and flee

But He will always be there;

The Reaper never sleeps

Since the day that you were born,

Your soul has belonged to Him

The Harvester collects His corn,

As He sings His hymn

He does not care, if you do have

A heart of Gold, or Tin

You can't escape the Reaper's Wrath,

Whether you're kind, or sin

You cannot run, you cannot hide,

Quietly, does He creep

He'll decide when you will die

The Reaper never sleeps

Life may be short, it may be long,

You will never know

But when you hear the Reaper's Song,

It is your time to go