Krohm

Along comes my hearse,
Marked with contempt,
Silently about
Its rotting descent.
Fickle the flame,
As chill it brings;
Tired and weary
As the raven sings.
My time has come
And bitter is the taste.
My time, it seems,
Is met with haste.
So carry me softly
With your gentle sway,
Back to the womb,
In the earth I lay.
Grieve me not,
I have no remorse for I have arrived.
[ My Hearse Lyrics ]