O Death, do not feel like the victor
'Cause my poor life makes you none the richer
Oh, your cold hands are clutching at cloth
I leave nothing on Earth that won't rot
its like he is dying with his cold dignity.
he is leaving an impression in the earth
but not leaving anything material that lasts forever behind.
O Death, do not feel like the victor 'Cause my poor life makes you none the richer Oh, your cold hands are clutching at cloth I leave nothing on Earth that won't rot
its like he is dying with his cold dignity. he is leaving an impression in the earth but not leaving anything material that lasts forever behind.