One day a Death shall come for me,
Come, bearing your own eyes.
A hollow shadow of my own,
From dusk till dawn in empty dream,
Gray bubbling stream of empty TV screen,
Is it a vice or not?

Eyes pause on empty word,
A muted shout in the sea of painful silent noise.
It's what one sees in early morning,
Engazed in muddy mirror on the door.
Day seems to end up soon, goodnight.

To them, death looks almost the same:
A scythe, a skull, a skeleton in robe -
I say it is not true, an absurd, made-up lie!
Nay - Death, I know, the day she comes,