A Tale Told
This tale I have, it must be told,
For I am growing weak and old,
And not much longer may I sit
Before you now to tell of it.
Oh, one thing more -- just one thing more:
There's someone at my chamber door.
Yes, that's the reason why, my friend,
I must rush on to story's end.
It must be told, it must be said;
I must release it from my head.
But I shant start with days of yore,
For someone's at my chamber door.
Instead I'll start with yesterday
And so will give the end away,
For I've no time to tell it all;
The chance has passed for me to stall.
For as I've said, and say once more:
There's someone at my chamber door.
The sweat is damp upon my brow.
I must now tell, but don't know how!
My eyes grow dim, my heart grows cold.
I fear this thing will not be told.
Quite soon, you see, I'll be no more --
'Tis Death who's at my chamber door.