Death Is Proud Poem by James McLain

All the people overturned the king for your dark robes.
And you the people whom some came to think,
the burried rest have called on he.

Our bodies dreadfull not the dress you wear in sleep so proud?
Like the poorest of the poor the rich will die what more.
Death needs life it does it's best to make me live and thou,
to kill me more than you when living bled and died for me.
Jailer look, you must be damned, each life it has to flow,
and I wear green laureled leaves the warden owns our souls.

More joy for he, more money seen, alas but not for thee.
Driven far from home inside a stone unhenged, we wait to die.
Great joy to Doe and smiling John, our best men, coming go.
Desperate times breed desperate men, unthinking yet they know
and slaves are made from living, breathing clay.
When death is proud no more, we look at death and it looks back,
but not at you or me.