When the Dead will Dance

Danse macabre

Dance death dance

The harvest of the human crop

Begins anew with every day

My bones rise

Follow in the line

Of dancers and the dead

They cannot stop

The parade goes on

And walking bones 

Are not in pain

They neither mourn

Nor do they sob

The parade of the dead

Marches on 

Whether to heaven

Or oblivion

They march together

Whatever they've achieved

Whoever they are 

Society might believe
That they are important

Or that they are not
But death is a democrat

And takes everyone alike
We might wish to live
We might be happy to die

Kings, Paupers, Knights, Beggars

Are the human harvest

Time to say good-bye