Where death stares you in the eye

Where everyone must come to lie

Where silence reigns supreme

Where tears flow in streams

Where helplessness is everywhere

Where winds howl loud and clear

Where both young and old must go

If the angel of death tells them so

Where flowers blossom on graves

Where epitaphs catch your gaze 

Where the rich and poor are equal made

“With the poor crooked scythe and spade”