What will I tell the man in black
When he comes to take my soul.
He will not believe me,
when I say my soul already belongs
to someone else.
He will want a fight,
for my life...
But no matter when he comes,
either on my graffitied skateboard
in the shallow slums of New York,
or on the summit of Mount Everest
in the summer time,
or on the winter equinox
when Night and Day kiss,
or in my bed
when I am old and grey...
I will be ready.
No one can hold a Child of God.
Not even Death.