Death the Comforter
Death the comforter of men,
A wight above the sullen fen,
I call ye to my breast again!
To solace in my den!
Escape the pain and rest again,
And leave away the day’s disdain,
The aggravation of thy brain,
Thy sin and earthly stain!
I know thee by a subtle thread,
And bring the silence of the dead,
In paradisic whiteness spread,
A pillow for thy head!
Above the church where shadows search,
Where spectres of perdition lurch,
Above the woods and swaying birch,
Where dreams adroitly perch.
In patience I present my arms,
The pit and all her hollow charms,
Aye, black enough to stay alarums,
A batch of bitter balms.
But they’re enough, prodigious tough,
A soporific, soothing stuff,
Tis not a trick and not a bluff,
Indeed they are enough.
To quell thy hurt, in sadness girt,
I bring a blankness, aye, inert,
To banish fears that come to flirt,
Thy fever to avert.
Tis thee I see upon the tree,
In loneliness, so wont to flee,
Escape and rather be with me,
Intoxicated, free.
For I am death triumphal wise,
Commanding hell and blackened skies,
And as your desperation dies,
I claim you as a prize…
💀
