Greetings mortal,
You’re looking rather sour,
Is the end rearing its head?
Then you’ve come to the right place,
Our establishment specialises in grim expirations,
It’s a booming trade I assure you,
What brand of death do you desire?
We have all the classics,

Would you prefer a bombastic end?
A crash or fall or rope,
Or maybe you favour the slow exit?
Pills or poison or water,
Do you fade amongst doting family,
Taken by pestilence and malady?
Perhaps you wish for a warriors death,
Iron to the gut in another’s defence?

So many possibilities,
Will you rest in a mausoleum?
Or be bleached bones upon the dune?
Our supplier rides a pale horse,
And is never late to deliver,
I wouldn’t ask for a refund though,
All of a our stock must go,
And it shall.

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