I am the one who bears final judgment,
He who shows no mercy at all.
A death delivered with cruel torment,
Watched in silence as doomed men fall.
I bear the burden others fear to touch,
As my axe becomes a bloodied scythe.
Yet a king’s duty permits not much —
I wear a mask, a face of blithe.
Still, what I fear is morning glory,
For time does not remain, but passes.
I heed this command for kin and family,
Paid in blood — the blood of masses.
Thus, this is my duty — the calling of the reaper,
Where all depart, yet horror stays.
If I could redeem even the grim keeper,
That he might walk within holy rays.