You may have the courage, the art or the skill,
To search for gold, in the land you till;
To turn the tide, when typhoons blow,
But death comes knocking, and there’s nowhere you can go.
Death is a leveller, I’ve heard people say;
No matter how far, you’ve gone on your way,
It brings you back, one fine bright day,
Mocking o’er powers, on which you held sway.
The king and the pawn, in the same box they rest,
No matter in the game, who gave his best.
In its inevitability, lies death’s fear,
The tick of the clock, and it comes but near.
Yet Tis’ the kings who reign, his statues we mould,
And songs sung for those, who find their gold.
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