Mr. Death

Have your blue eyes turned brown
staring at this desolate town
taken all of what you could
naught to burn you're out of wood

couplets rustle in the trees
fallen angels carcass bees
made of history no more
fated passing dirty shore

once New York but here no place
not since childhood tears on face
grimly watching life sun set
future dark well met well met

sickle scythe the wheat is shorn
hearts attached by naked scorn
clothe intentions silken tie
all be fine your favorite lie

thank you sir for what you do
who else knows just when to brew
nettle tea that says the ending
hairpin turn has no more bending.