The Great Geriatric Migration

When death's ears bleed for me
More of life's antique masses
Cry for madness as their excuse
When death grasps your hand

I shout to the sky
Take them away
Death's cold hand waves goodbye
Fetch his cane, little one.

Piles on piles
Walk this earth
Death claims insanity
We stand one step away
Fetch his cane.