My Hearse Lyrics

Along comes my hearse,

Marked with contempt,

Silently about

Its rotting descent.

Fickle the flame,

As chill it brings;

Tired and weary

As the raven sings.

My time has come

And bitter is the taste.

My time, it seems,

Is met with haste.

So carry me softly

With your gentle sway,

Back to the womb,

In the earth I lay.

Grieve me not,

I have no remorse for I have arrived.