O Death 

 
O Death, O Death,
Cold, cold hands 
Picking through the burning sand.
 

I am Death and I excel
At my chosen trade.
Thank you one and all
For digging your own graves.

 O Death, O Death,
Cold, cold hands 
Picking through the burning sand.

 Saving all your money
Just to give to me.
Making me my weapons,
One more baby on your knee. 

O Death, O Death,
Cold, cold hands 
Picking through the burning sand.

 I used to labor hard
Seeking souls to trap
Now the fires burn.
Bodies fall in my lap.

 O Death, O Death,
Cold, cold hands 
Picking through the burning sand.

Snow-white doves
Gather 'round like children.
You take their olive branch, 
say, "Thank you,"and you kill them.


I understand you're wise.
Only fools can dream.
I hope you're never fools enough
To live in harmony.

O Death, O Death,
Cold, cold hands 
Picking through the burning sand.