Between Your End

O son of man, born of a woman,
Your end nears, beside you it sits,
In your friendliest of shadows it lurks;
It rises and sets at your bedside.

Why then say cry me a river?
Why then feed the poor a pail of pain, and upon their ways lay traps of tragedies?
Why send the orphan away by dark?
Why hide the widows in the cover of despair?

O son of man, born of a woman,
The end you dare not seek, seeks you,
Seeks you, from conception
To the hour you're lowered to its hold.

O son of man, born of a woman,
On a path narrow over roily waters,
A lone sailor on a voyage
Whose name the way to the end.

O your prisoner, you, free!
The chains upon your mind unclasp.
This new wine pour upon your soul,
And free your spirit.