The King of the Dead says, "Ne'er they goes"

The mourner is not easily consoled

The Reaper's cloak conseals the Syth of Souls

Even the corpse is covered in mold

Life is like a fragile, frail flower

Many have tried to take control

Even wise men do not have the power

Seraphs can do naught, but go patrol

Life and Death can be happy or sad

Death can not win in Life's own gladness

Life can not win, because Death's so mad