GraveDiggers Shovel

The lantern light swings slow I am the one who walks within its glow I have a worn shovel thrown over one shoulder And the air where I work is always colder These gravestones hold names that I have read And even some that I have said Sometimes I’ll hear a whisper of goodbye And oftentimes the sky begins to cry This cemetery stretches as far as I can see Dotted and marred by an occasional rotting tree I lost sight of the entry gate long ago I have created each and every one of these graves nice and slow And when I go to receive a soul It is I who delivers the finale blow It is then that my shovel appears as a flashing Scythe Or sometimes even a fresh, clean, double edged knife I have been called many things over time But death is the same, and always the finale line I’m often depicted as a hooded figure And sometimes in houses I am said to linger I have a plan for everyone born To life I am its only eternal thorn So watch out, I just might come for you I am the Grim Reaper through and through.