Before death could take the blow

When the cruel destiny of life

Begs to arrive late,

The human rushes for its gates

To get its bittersweet fate.

How the human begs for his soul to be ripped,

How the human craves for the pain of carving flesh,

How the human begs for his skin to be peeled,

How the human scratches his teeth, shivering to the heels.

For what the human saw—

Death bored himself out of the bed,

Took his scythe and went for his head.

Before Death could take a blow,

The human took it on his own.

Death, tormented by the human's act,

Took a deeper look in his eyes and saw the pride.

He saw a life drenched with the rain of sand,

Castling inside the man, suffocating the human's sublime.

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