A Dustman’s Dirge
by Chris Nichols
Dustman, Dustman, why do you wander?
Is it True Death that you ponder?
Tiefling child, I go where I will,
To the crypt in the valley or the grave on the hill.
Dustman, Dustman, who is your god?
Who bears the scythe, the sword, and the rod?
Tiefling child, my god is Death,
The reaper of the flock, the stealer of your breath.
Dustman, Dustman, I am ill, I fear.
When I die, who will bring me here?
Tiefling child, should your spirit flee,
On that day, I will come for thee.
Dustman, Dustman, bless me with a kiss,
Before I flee, grant this one wish.
Tiefling child, this wish I grant for you.
Peace my little one, escape the life untrue.
Tiefling child, now so cold and pale,
Rest, your soul has passed beyond the veil.
