A Conversation with Death

O, Death

O, Death

Won't you spare me over till another year?

What is this I can't see

With icy hands takin' hold of me?

O, I am Death, no-one can excel

I open the door to Heaven or Hell 

O, Death, someone would pray

Could you call some other day?

The children prayed, the preacher preached

Time and mercy is out of your reach

O, Death 

O, Death 

Won't you spare me till another year? 

I am Death, 

I come to take the soul

Leave the body and leave it cold

To draw up the flesh off of the frame

The earth and worms will have their claim

Mother come to my bed

Place a cold towel upon my head

My head is warm, my feet are cold

Death is movin' upon my soul

O, Death 

O, Death 

Won't you spare me o'er till another year?

O, Death, please consider my age

Please don't take me at this stage

My wealth is all at your command

If you will move your icy hand

No wealth, no land, no silver nor gold

Nothing satisfies me but your poor soul

The old, the young, the rich and the poor

They're all alike to me you know

O, Death

O, Death

Won't you spare me o'er till another year?

Won't you spare me o'er till another year?

— Lloyd Chandler