Fear the reaper

Fear the reaper, as he swings his scythe,
In the blink of an eye, say farewell to this life,
The reaper cares not for your sins, nor your good deeds,
You may plea all you like, your word he will not heed.

It is unknown if death is painful, or like the agony of fire,
The only way to know, is the day you expire,
A skeleton, a ghoul, a spirit, a ghost,
His meet is the day we fear the most.

Money can't buy him, nor will he pity the poor,
He cares not if a rodent, or an eagle that soars,
Child or elderly, woman or man,
Again, meaningless, to the cloak wearing fan.

You may fight him, and you may cry,
For what does it matter? To him you must die,
But those who smile, and refuse his fear,
Are the ones that find he is always near.

Fear not the reaper, for when he swings his scythe,
You wish to look back, and be glad of your life,
He cares not for sins, nor does he care for good deeds,
So live life to the fullest, my words you must heed.