If Grim Reaper attends a Halloween party,

It wouldn’t smear blood on its face,

Nor scream at its abode’s guests.

It wouldn’t ask for the help,

Of the souls it has led,

Of the bodies it has left.

It wouldn’t join the dead,

The ones filled with dread,

The ones who did not taste the sweet end.

It wouldn’t make itself strikingly tall,

Nor make its eyes fall,

Or carry a doll.

It wouldn’t carry its scythe,

Nor bring its cloak to site,

Or show its face to strike.

It wouldn’t sit with the devil,

Nor behave in its most evil.

But it will attend in October.

Not on the 30th, but on the 7th.

It would sit with the Almighty,

And act as high and mighty.

It would carry a laurel,

Wear a coat that screams well,

But hide itself in a false veil.

It wouldn’t stand tall,

Afraid to take the fall,

Willing to be the doll.

It wouldn’t defend the dead,

The ones filled with dread,

The ones who did not taste the sweet end.

It wouldn’t ask the world to help

The souls it has led,

The bodies it has left.

If Grim Reaper attends a Halloween party,

It wouldn’t acknowledge the martyr’s blood to save its face,

Nor scream at the western guests.

After all, there is nothing scarier than those who appear white and blue,

Who have blood on their hands far more than death’s due.