The blood drops in her scrawny veins
still pulsing with the fading light
steadily slowing to a stop
beneathe the curtain of the night

Her hair, it falls in shreds of life
a cascade of decay and death
the spiders crawl upon her eyes
cooled by her shallow breath

Her hands are shriveled into claws
grasping at her waning life
Into her heart, the hand of Death
is plunging in the knife

Her spirit is a dying thing
that wafts about her bed
and when it breaks earthly restraint
she truly will be dead

The woman lies still in the room
her blood is stopping, silent
Her heart has ceased its earthly drum
and even Death is quiet.