My Hearse - Krohm

Along comes my hearse

Marked with contempt

Silently about

Its rotting descent

Fickle the flame

As chill it brings;

Tired and weary

As the raven sings

My time has come

And bitter is the taste

My time, it seems

Is met with haste

So carry me softly

With your gentle sway

Back to the womb

In the earth I lay

Grieve me not

I have no remorse for I have arrived