Love and death walk silently, hand in hand.
One appears to give and the other take.
But is it true? Can't we admire both?
Death, hate, and sorrow, they start as love, no?
Love and death entwine. Silent. Hand in hand.
Move from home to home. Woman, man, and child.
A presence known but never heard. It breathes.
Death my love, I feel you. Need you even.
But death will never know me, know my love.
As close as they are together, not ever.
For the moment we do meet, I see,
Love, not death, walk towards me, silently.
Oh now I love death, and death do love me,
For I am love, and death, death me now be.