The Gardener of Your Soul

Death is bitter and death is sweet

A tender soul, we kindly greet

Give us this day, our daily bread

Today, I come to harvest the dead

In fertile soil and warm sunlight,

Prepare thy soul for eternal flight

The dead must know

No weeds shall grow

Ancient bones, know how to speak

Sweet hands of death, you come to seek

Awaken dark and precocious moon,

My harvest of souls, fresh bounty soon