Death, is a jealous fellow

he has no age, grace, nor liking

it considers not woe, nor sorrow

he displays a complete arbitrary arrival

he does not consider survival

and lingers with denial

he can care less about revival

for he is every one of your rivals

Death, is a jealous fellow.

He plays his game, like he plays the game of Life

rolling the dice, as if there's no tomorrow

because everything you have is only temporary

it's only a borrow

he will not have sympathy

because you live every moment fearfully

he will achieve victory, skillfully

for you are a part of his tyranny

in where he collects his symphony of enemies

for Death is a jealous fellow

and indeed, the truth is hard to swallow.