Why are you hiding beneath the staircase?
      Are you a thief come to rob me
      or just a joker out to give me a little scare?

      I see you better now but wish I didnít.
      Youíre taller than I thought but your clothes
      give you away, black as sin, outdated Ė

      No. No. I mean they are becoming to you,
      in an old-world way, like Bosch or Brueghel.
      I think I expected more of a Johnny Cash look.
      Pardon me but I donít think Iím ready to go.
      Come on into my living room
      and letís talk this over like two adults.
      Thank you. Now sit back in the La-Z-Boy
      and rest your weary bones.
      Can I give you some advice?
      Good! You know, you look like Hell, empty sockets
      and bony hands, enough to scare the dead.
      If I were your PR guy I think
      I would recommend a complete makeover with
      blonde hair and flesh face, a full-figured female 	
      look. Ditch the cape and the hooded cowl.
      People would line up to follow you,
      to join the ďBlack AngelĒ brigade;
      your current image is appalling.
      I feel you are ignoring me completely.
      Why donít you put your scythe back in the violin 	
      case. Let me pour you a bloody mary.
      Oh! Is that your hearse parked outside my door?
      Look! The cop is ticketing you for an expired tag.
      Why donít you take care of things while
      I slip out the back door wearing a false moustache,
      a painted face, very big shoes
      and my clown suit so as to be totally

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Mister Death

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