Deaths’ scythe is singing, death is a calling
My light is gone, my star has fallen
She called my name like we were lovers
Before I knew it the dream was all over
I cant blame her for what she has done
She will call everyone’s name until we are all gone
She must return what she has borrowed
Deaths’ scythe will be calling you upon the morrow
She was the first mother, she set us free
She is called death but her true name is Eve
Now she must give back what she took
Upon her face you must never look
She is very beautiful, Her beauty is like no other
Her beauty saddens you, her scythe ends your sorrow
She was the first woman, she was the first mother
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem