The wind is blowing strongly and it's pulling at my hair
A 'thing' has appeared in front of me and I can only stare
What manner of beast is this? I ask my self aloud
To be able to materialise in a swirling brimstone cloud
The wind is blowing stronger and the 'thing' is coming near
As I gaze upon it's face, I realise my worst fear
The 'thing' has come to collect a debt that I owed it years ago
A promise is a promise - but I really don't want to go
The 'thing' is now upon me and holding out it's hand
For many years I prospered in this mortal land
But now the time has come around and I've always understood
There's no escaping mortality and hiding will do no good
I don't want to go