Poor Old Mr. Death

Poor old Mr. Death
Just a working Joe
People always curse his name
They don't see he's not to blame
For stealing their last breath

Poor old Mr. Death
A victim of bad press
Just a tram conductor really
Punching tickets, thank you sir
Story over, out you go
Time to wave the world goodbye

Crows gather, shiny and black
Stamping their feet on the stone, gothic turret
In the rain
The drizzling, cold, unending rain
Of night
A horse with no rider clops slowly by
The bell tower chimes twelve
Low and slow
A nurse clad all in black tampers with syringes
Suddenly the sound of windows shattering
A woman's desperate shriek
Lightning cracks the darkness open
A mausoleum door moans on its hinges
In medicine cabinets and kitchen drawers
Mr. Death is handling things
With kid gloves

And what a dashing figure he presents
Immaculately dressed
Dispassionate, professional
Military posture
Trousers neatly pressed
 
Gaunt and elegant, an English butler
In looks and etiquette
The mourning coat and stovepipe hat
The grave expression, well rehearsed
Boutonnière, gloves
Spats and gray cravat

A man of dignity and taste
The limousine, so sleek and long
A wreath of flowers on the rack
Another stiff one in the back

Poor old Mr. Death
So misunderstood
We're born to die
The sunlight of our days
The blinking of an eye
Dying, being born
The same thing upside down

If we lived forever
Imagine the congestion
Things that bore us now
Would bore us endlessly
Things that hurt us now
Would hurt
For all eternity

Ordering a meal would take
The best part of a week
Picking out a tie would be
A full month's undertaking

Every day I have
From this day to the rest
Is one more than I thought I'd get
Deserved to get

When Mr. Death knocks at my door
And he's always right on time
I'll say, thank you for each blow
That knocked some sense into me
Thank you for the people
I met along the way
Thank you for the stupid things I did
Thank you for the paintings
Sky, earth, sea
Thank you for the music
Bird calls, saxophones, crickets, and thunder
Thank you for the precious love
So many gave to me

I speak of Mr. Death because
I've seen his handiwork up close
When I was young

Before I was dumped into the ocean
Before I was incinerated
Like a witch in Salem
Before I was buried under six feet of shame
Before I hit the wall at 90 miles an hour

He visited my family
And then he stole my mother
My mother who was everything
Loving, strong, wise, and beautiful
The sun was sucked out of my sky

Her dying was a torture that lasted many years
And so, just like the rest, I cursed at Mr. Death
I spat upon his name
And washed my face with tears
I hated all the world
Never understanding
That at the last she begged for him
To terminate her agony
 
Our stray cats
And our mysteries
Come home to us in death
It's the time to make amends
For the wrong things that we've done
Tying up loose ends
Time to sort it out, so that we can rest in peace
Time to let go of the stones
We've carried for so long

Poor old Mr. Death
Just a working Joe
He does his job like you and me
People always curse his name
They don't see he's not to blame
We all pick on him.