By Luke Openshaw
Is it wrong to dream of death,
wishing away your last breath?
Is it abrupt or so blindingly bright,
must you obey or can you put up a fight?
I’ve been told there is no value to life,
so now is the test of the after light.
What if death was just the beginning,
after raucous years brim-full of sinning?
Maybe not for you, but for poor little me,
I met the dark one, who gave me a key.
The key to the end, the oars to the boat,
the Rivermans friend, a boast worth a gloat.
Can’t betray the power, but won’t do it for free,
I’ll bring you lost souls, if they pay me the fee.
Now I am the man with all of the tricks,
the big guy in charge paddling the Styx.