After darkness doth fall,
you may never hear the raven's call.
He lurks in corners,
takes in flight,
joy to see the old men die.
How cruel the leaden sky doth look,
as I lay here six feet in a crook.
The granite sky,
how deeply gray,
as it saddens I decay.
Life just left me in a flash,
I tried to make one last dash.
Now in death,
I sit and wait,
to e'er see hell's feirce gate.
How I shall burn in that fiery pit,
how the totrure shall be like a whip.
Now I lay in my coffin,
seeing through,
the morning dew.
I feel nothing not cold not pain,
I feel no sorrow for I have been slain.
I decay here,
rotting like a twig,