Lou FCDDeath,

She is a comin’

for every man but me,

I am not afraid of her,

Nor is she of me.


I’ve danced with her,

and laughed at her,

While jumping from a plane,

I’ve done things

that other beings,

have often called insane.


I’ll ride her tails,

through starry trails,

And skitter all through space,

And all the while,

I’ll fly in style,

And chuckle in her face.


If she wanted me,

I clearly see,

She’d done already came,

But I’m the thistle,

the fatty gristle,

That Death just couldn’t tame.


And since she can’t

or won’t or don’t,

I’d like to change my plea,

I’m still sure ,

I’m not afraid of her,

But I think she is of me.



5 Responses to “Death”

  1. WhoreChurch Says:

    Hey, my comment didn’t show up. Might go into the spam filter. Ugh. Oh, well, I tried. Lou, hope you feel better.

  2. Lou FCD Says:

    Nope. Nothing in the spam filter.

    Strange. Thanks for trying, though.


  3. Robyn Says:

    I love the concept of being the thistle or fatty gristle that death just doesn’t want. great imagery

  4. Lou FCD Says:

    Thanks. I’ve always really thought this was a great description of how I view life and death.

    It was one of my better attempts at meter and rhyme, I think.

    Of course, I might be biased…


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