Ever see the reaper dance in the morning fog?
He sways like a drunken swan then sinks in the bog
We called upon him once, my companions and I
We gathered in my basement with candles for lights
Forming a circle, we each carefully joined hands
Repeating his name, we shouted out our demands
The shutters sprang open, the air filled the room
Above drifted the reaper, foreshadower of doom
He raised his sickle, that’s when we knew
We had sealed our fates and now we were through
With every slash, more blood and flesh splattered
We cried screams of mercy while he chopped and clattered
He cast some into hell, some into space
Some were made ghosts, damned to haunt this place
But his plan for me, as you can see
Was different from those stated previously
I was transformed into a pencil’s graphite lead
Which writes this tale that you have read