The "Graveyard Shift's" on overtime. And working 'round the clock
A new crew is set in place each time we hear the "Reaper" knock
And he's been busy making stops in every walk of life
To day, he claimed a soldier, yesterday, he claimed a wife
Last week was aunts and uncles; Granddads, the week before
I wonder when he'll get around to knocking on my door
We all have one-way tickets, to ride the "Pale Dude's" horse
And the 'Reaper" gladly punches them, when they come due, of course
The obits, in the papers, and all the sadness in this thread
Mean that an other soul has parted and that someone's friend is dead
Or maybe someone's lover; cousin; brother; daughter; son
The "Reaper" disregards relationships, as he picks his chosen one.
So when the 'Dude' comes riding, with his scythe in his hand
To shepherd someone dear to us to the fabled 'Promised Land'
In a twisted and ironic way, he does the Lord's work, I believe
And leaves we poor survivors to ponder and to grieve.
And tears are shed, and loves are missed, as they are taken on their way
I cry now, but not for long. I'll be joining them, someday
And I find, as I grow older, the Grim Reaper holds no fear.
I stopped listening for the hoof beats, as my final time draws near
And when he knocks upon by door, as I draw my final breath
The hood will fall; and they're revealed: The final 'Face of Death'.
So when it's time, I'll not complain, I'll open up the door
And ride with him to go and meet loved ones, gone on before.
